Finding the Mockingjay
by ghettos
Summary: Katniss Everdeen didn't always live in District Four. /how she arrived there, and steps she took towards it. -— Finnick/Katniss; AU
1. I

**A/N **–– hello there(: this is possibly the longest thing I have ever written; no actually, this _is_ the longest thing I have ever written. haha, meet my latest plot bunny – it's a twisted, tricky thing that's hard to work with at times, but look – we made it! ^^ the main pairing in this is my latest OTP ;)

it's a finnickatniss AU, in which Katniss won the 70th Hunger Games instead of the 74th, and she lives in District 4 with Finnick. There are two plots which are told concurrently, one focusing on the steps that Katniss took towards District 4, the other one with her as a mentor during the 74th Hunger Games. It took me really long to write this, so I'd appreciate any form of feedback!(: it's disgustingly AU, but I hope you like it :3

the style in which this is written is rather confusing, there are constant time leaps and no clear storyline, but it's meant to be like it. so to anyone who's reallyreally confused by everything and still wants to know what's going on, feel free to PM me, okay?(:

* * *

**dedicated** –– to my lovely twinny, Diana / magiciseverywhere, and to Louise / downstage, who's beautiful and amazing and adorable. :3

* * *

_Finding the Mockingjay  
_by **riptides**

* * *

**I.**

* * *

**一波未平，一波又起。**

* * *

_in your ocean, I'm ankle deep,  
I feel the waves crashing on my feet,  
it's like I know where I need to be._

* * *

It's hard to explain how everything started. Their relationship never had a beginning. It's almost as if they were plunged to their necks in it from the very start, and soon it was all just fumbling in the dark so much as knowing each other thoroughly. So whenever she whispers to him, _how did this all begin?_ All he can do is respond, _I don't know._

* * *

The sky is almost crystalline blue today, she notes as she steps from the shade of her porch and onto the beach. Her feet leave imprints in the pristine sand as she ambles down the shore without any particular destination in mind, clear grey eyes staring out at the sea.

She pauses at the very edge of the water, gentle waves rippling over her bare feet and staining the sand beneath them a darker shade. The rise and decline of the waves have a fluid rhythm that soothes her, putting her mind at rest. Her white dress flutters about her ankles, dancing above the pale turquoise waters, just out of reach, and her hair, too, lifts on the sea breeze, floating around her head like a dark halo.

She hardly remembers how she ended up in District 4, and even less _why_ she ended up there. It happened so long ago; the images should be fuzzy in her mind, but they're ever-distinct and vivid, almost as if daunting her.

She remembers blood slipping through her fingers, arrow nocked in her bow, the quivering tip aimed at the smug face of Cato Juncos. She remembers her district partner's pale face, sweat pouring down from his temples as he asphyxiated, slowly suffocating due to Cato's grip around his neck. _Stalemate. _The word rings in her mind now, reminding her how helpless she felt, how clueless she was, and how she didn't know what to do.

_I killed him._ That isn't a lie. If she'd reacted faster, maybe shot Cato's arm or something, Peeta Mellark would be alive and breathing, and they'd both have been victors. _What of our little 'drama'?_ The star-crossed lovers act would have continued, surely, and they would have continued until –– _no_, she chides herself, sensibly. _There's no point in wondering what might have been._

But it's impossible to forget the twisted agony on Peeta's face, his fingers scrambling for purchase on Cato's arm, trying to pull it away. She was frozen, unable to react, and slowly, bit by bit, he died in front of her, until he finally slumped and Cato released his arm, satisfied. Only then did she regain her composure and shoot her enemy in the chest, causing him to drop dead, too, and the two cannons fired at exactly the same time.

Then she had sunk to her knees beside Peeta Mellark's dead body, and started to sob into her bloodstained fingers.

It's all too much, every single detail of that moment etched into her memory eternally. _No,_ she whispers. _No_, she repeats more firmly. _My name is Katniss Everdeen, I am twenty years old, and I am the victor of the 70__th__ Hunger Games . . . _

It's a little mantra she recites to herself whenever things get too much to deal with, when she wakes screaming from nightmares or whenever the memories overwhelm her. She collapses there, at the edge of the surf, dropping to her knees and whispering those words to herself as if they're her lifeline. _I have a younger sister called Primrose and she's fourteen this year. She was ten when I won the Games and she has a goat named Lady_ –

"Katniss?"

She doesn't react, and she feels arms going around her, lips pressed to her temple. "It's okay. Everything's alright now. Don't worry, everything's alright –"

"Today is the Reaping," she murmurs, eyes still fixed on the sea. "Real or not real?"

Finnick Odair hesitates, before answering her truthfully, his grip on her tightening even further. "Real," he says, quietly. "Today is the reaping of the 74th Hunger Games. You have to be in District 12 before noon, and we need to be at the station by nine, which means we have an hour."

Katniss shudders, curling her fingers into fists and then relaxing them again. "Okay."

"Just don't think about it, in two weeks it'll all be over and we can come back here again," Finnick says, rocking her back and forth. "Then we can –"

"My tributes are going to die. Real or not real?"

"Katniss," Finnick pauses, "if you don't want to do it, I can see whether Haymitch can just take over your tribute this year –"

"No, I want to do it," she answers, pushing his arms away and standing up. "I want to."

He closes his eyes and sighs. "Okay. Just try your best, and if they don't live don't blame yourself, because you know it's not your fault." She doesn't respond, so he opens his eyes again and exhales exasperatedly. "Katniss –"

"But it is my fault," she grumbles. "Because I'm a bad mentor, that's why they die."

"Katniss," he repeats, getting to his feet and gripping her shoulders firmly, "it's not your fault." She shys away from his touch and runs back towards the house, her hands clamping automatically over her ears. _My name is Katniss Everdeen, I am twenty years old, and I am the victor of the . . . _

She goes up to her room and shuts the door, leaning against it almost tiredly, ignoring Finnick's incessant knocking. "Katniss? Katniss!" his voice rises in urgency, but she doesn't care, wandering away from the door and moving towards her window, where she pauses, pressing her cheek against the glass.

Her eyes are fixed on the sky, and for some reason, she can't cast away the dread that slowly settles into the pit of her stomach.

* * *

-;-

* * *

"Ladies and gentlemen, I present to you – Katniss Everdeen, the victor, of the 70th Annual Hunger Games!"

The fanfare of trumpets blares out; she looks up and stares at the sky with her blood-smeared face, trying to make sense of everything that is going on. There's a hovercraft above her. _They're here to take away his body._ Without another thought she grabs Peeta's corpse and hugs it to her chest tightly, refusing to let go. However, instead of the metal claw being lowered, a ladder slowly drops down from the sky, the metal tines just touching the gold of the Cornucopia, right beside her.

_I've won. I've won._ The words echo in her ears, but she doesn't comprehend, just stares blankly at the ladder as blood drips down her face. The cameras must have stopped filming a while ago, because a voice blares out from the hovercraft. "Miss Everdeen, please step onto the ladder." Oh. _Oh._ She moves towards the ladder, all the while keeping a firm grip on Peeta's body, and steps onto the lowest rung.

It doesn't move.

"Miss Everdeen, please release the body."

She doesn't react.

"Miss Everdeen, please release the body."

She continues to blink up at the hovercraft uncomprehendingly, when suddenly an electric current jolts her and her fingers spasm, releasing her grip on the corpse and causing it to tumble from her grasp. _No!_ She bends down and reaches for it, but she can't move anymore, and the ladder is being reeled back up into the hovercraft. Her mouth is pulled open in a silent shriek.

When she's no longer immobile, she starts screaming, pounding her fists against the glass walls that are shut on her almost instantly. She loses control of herself, spiraling into an abyss of insanity. When she jerks back into painful reality her knuckles are bruised and bloodied, and she feels immensely dizzy, struggling to retain her hold on consciousness.

Then she feels a stabbing sensation in her arm, and the silver hypodermic needle glinting up at her is the last thing she sees before she blacks out.

* * *

-;-

* * *

There are times when she wakes up beside him in terror, with sweat and tears pouring down her cheeks, paralyzed in fear, unable to move. He seems to know the best ways to calm her down when she goes into a frenzy; he holds her tiny wrists in his hands, speaking soothing words to her, words that she does not absorb but somehow cause her to relax. He always knows when she has nightmares, yet she can never tell when he does – he doesn't react the way she does, thrashing and kicking at the suffocating sheets, but instead keeps it to himself.

She wishes she knew when his memories overwhelmed him, because they are obviously far worse than hers, but she never does, and never will.

* * *

They're at the train station when she suddenly clings to him, not willing to let go of her last shred of sanity, the only one who keeps her grounded, keeps her alive. "Can't you come with me?" her eyes are wide and pleading, but he merely laughs and hugs her tightly. "It's only a few hours, Katniss. Surely you can last that long without me."

"I don't want to go without you," she whispers into his shoulder, and she feels him laugh, feels the vibrations from his throat. He gently prises her off him, and holds her at arm's length, a smile on his lips.

"I'll see you in a few hours, okay?" then he drops a quick kiss on her forehead and moves away from the platform. Eyes widening in horror, she reaches for him desperately, but a restraining hand clamps onto her shoulder, and Katniss whirls around with a snarl on her lips.

"Come on," says Effie Trinket brightly. "It's going to be a big, big, big day!"

* * *

The train ride is painfully claustrophobic, and Katniss sits mutedly across from Effie at the mahogany dining table, watching the escort through hooded eyes as she sips her warm coca from a delicate china teacup. "And I told Fabian that _no_, I was _not_ going to buy the teapot unless he gave me the matching floral plates! And guess what? He did!" Effie continues chattering about her various escapades in the Capitol over the previous year. Katniss tries to seem polite, nodding at appropriate intervals, because she honestly doesn't feel like talking and is glad that Effie's doing all of it.

"I simply can't wait for the results of the designer balloting! It'd be lovely if we could get a _decent_ designer, just this once! I've heard there's some new talent in town, oh, but I'll bet my buttons that we won't, seeing as they always treat us the worst," Effie sniffs and lifts her teacup to her lips.

"Won't you have anything to eat, Katniss-dear? And you're being awfully silent, darling." Effie pats her painted lips against a napkin, staining the linen purple. "Oh, goodness, I've smudged my lipstick. Trinette!" she raises a hand, beckoning to one of the attendants. "Trinette, do you think you could get my makeup bag from my cabin –"

"I'll get it," says Katniss immediately, grateful for the excuse. Effie looks up in surprise as Katniss stands, pushing her chair back from the table less than gracefully. "You would? Thank you so much, Katniss. It's in the top second drawer of the right dresser by my bed." She looks back down and begins nibbling on a digestive, so Katniss leaves the dining car.

She heads past her own room and into Effie's, where the television is on and a newscaster is rambling about some weather reports. Ignoring the report, she heads straight to the right dresser and opens the second drawer, starting to rifle through Effie's belongings. Just as she's shifting aside a bunch of silk scarves, her elbow accidently knocks into something on top of the dresser, causing it to land face-down on the carpet. As she bends down to pick it up, she realizes it's a newspaper. _I haven't seen one in a while_, Katniss thinks to herself, and almost involuntarily seats herself on the snow-white duvet, starting to rifle through the papers.

It's very simplistic news, mostly about fashion trends and galas and dinner events, when a tiny article at one corner of the paper catches her eye. It's right next to some large flashy advertisement which would probably divert your attention right away, but it's the screaming headline that draws Katniss to it. It reads "WORKERS ON STRIKE IN DISTRICT THREE", and the article beneath it is short and clipped.

_Workers in District Three have recently been on strike due to poor working conditions, so backed-up orders and glitches in manufacturing may occur. _

That's all the article offers, not a single word more is printed into the paper. Katniss' brow furrows. On strike? Why would they be on strike? She stares at the paper for a while more, as if doing that would force it to reveal other hidden secrets, but it remains lifeless and unmoving. Frustrated, she bunches it up and slams it down onto the dresser, as the newscaster drones on in the background.

" . . . recently, workers in District Eight have recently been on strike due to poor working conditions, so backed-up orders and glitches in manufacturing may occur." Her eyes immediately flash to the television screen, but it has already cut back to the weather report. _Did I hear District Eight, or District Three?_ Confused, Katniss unrolls the newspaper again and scans the article briefly. Word for word. _But – but the newscaster said District Eight!_ _Could it be in both District Three and Eight? But that's not possible . . . _her fingers curl around the edges of the newspaper, causing them to become torn and frayed. _Could there be a mistake?_

_The Capitol doesn't make mistakes,_ a voice at the back of her head reminds her. She shakes her head, weary and befuddled. _What is going on?_

Just then, Effie's voice echoes down the corridor, accompanied by the sound of her stilettos embedding themselves in the carpet and being wrenched out again. "Katniss? Katniss, are you alright?"

"Yeah!" Katniss responds hurriedly, refolding the newspaper and laying it atop the dresser again. "I'm coming!" She leaps off the bed and starts rifling through the drawer again, before finally locating the makeup bag and sprinting into the corridor. Effie is just outside the door, and she jerks back in surprise. "Did you have a hard time finding it?" she asks, eyes wide.

Katniss forces a smile. _Act like everything's alright._ "Nope, it was just hiding behind a pile of silk scarves," she replies, her voice falsely cheerful.

Thankfully, Effie doesn't notice a thing. "Oh, yes! My scarves! Do you know that every single one of them has a unique story? My, my, my, I have to tell you about them one day! How about later, over tea?"

"Sounds great," Katniss manages, even though her heart is thrumming rapidly, beating against her chest. She shuts her ears to Effie's babbling and tries to calm herself. _Nothing makes sense,_ she thinks to herself. _No matter. I'll think about it later._

* * *

-;-

* * *

The first time Katniss Everdeen meets Finnick Odair is on her Victory Tour.

She has never been to District Four before, so it amazes her when she first glimpses it – the sea sparkles in the sunlight, and the beach is blindingly white. She's extremely disappointed when told that their schedule doesn't entail a visit to the seashore – "we have _much _better things to do," says Effie – and allows herself to be steered off towards the Justice Building rather reluctantly.

At night, however, she slips from the celebrations unnoticed, when everyone is too sozzled to care, and navigates her way to the seaside herself. The sea is almost silver in the moonlight, and with her heart thrumming in anticipation, she removes her toe-pinching shoes before stepping onto the sand. The tiny sand crystals are soft and warm beneath her feet, and she feels as if she could just _sink_ into it. She imagines the water would be warm, too, and takes quick steps towards the where the waves wash up onto the beach. However, before she can even step into the surf, a voice rings out from behind her.

"Hello."

She lets out a little yelp of surprise and whirls around, dropping her glossy red high heels into the water. He throws his head back and laughs, and when she finally glimpses who it is, she frowns and crosses her arms across her chest. "Aren't you meant to be at the celebrations?"

"What about you?" he returns. "They're held in your honor, aren't they?"

"They are," she agrees, "but then shouldn't I like them?"

"I suppose," he concedes. "And how do you find District Four so far?"

"I've never seen the sea before in my life," she whispers, eyes drifting towards the horizon. He nods, shoving his hands into his pockets as he ambles towards her. "It's beautiful, isn't it?"

"Yeah," she breathes.

He smiles now, taking one of his hands from his pockets and extending it towards her. "Hello there. My name is Finnick Odair."

"Hello, Finnick. My name is Katniss Everdeen," she answers, taking his proffered hand, and they both smile at each other, sealing their friendship as the stars shine darkly overhead.

* * *

She seems to be running into Finnick Odair far more often than she intended. He's everywhere that she goes – every single party that she goes to as a victor, every single performance, every single restaurant – and of course every single bar.

"Are you stalking me?" she asks suspiciously as he saunters his way up to the bar beside her for the seventh time – she's keeping count – supposedly by "coincidence", and offers to buy her a drink.

He merely laughs. "Oh, Katniss, Katniss. If only you knew."

* * *

It continues to happen, their "coincidental" meetings practically everywhere in the Capitol, even when she's running errands, or walking in the streets. But every time they meet, he just switches on the charm, and of course she's ever-enamoured of the legendary Finnick Odair, who won the Hunger Games when he was fourteen, the youngest victor ever. They get to know each other better, slowly, revealing bits and pieces about themselves with every encounter, and gradually they think they have a basic idea of who the other really is.

"What's my favourite color?"

"Green."

"What's my favourite food?"

" . . . lamb stew."

"What's my favourite thing to do in the world?"

" . . . shoot?"

"Wrong!"

They both start laughing at that, and every single pair of eyes in the cafe swivels to glance at them, the two most eligible victors in the entire Capitol, on a coffee date in an extremely public place. But of course, they are nothing more than friends, just friends having a friendly conversation and sharing private jokes. When their laughter finally dies down, their eyes meet, blue-green glimpsing deep grey. Almost instantly, as if they were both bashful schoolchildren, they look away, blushes touching their cheeks.

They continue to learn more about each other, but every single time one of them thinks that they're close to knowing everything about the other, they discover some new shards of information that completely pierces their conclusions, causing them to fall apart. They're both enigmas, utter mysteries, and even though they think they know each other well, in truth they barely do.

* * *

-;-

* * *

"Katniss!" something tiny and blonde hurls itself at Katniss the moment she steps off the train, and Katniss stumbles back awkwardly, trying to regain her balance. Primrose Everdeen pulls back from her sister's embrace, eyes shining. "I've missed you so!"

At the sight of her friend, a real smile touches Katniss' lips. "Prim." Her eyes drift to the lean, towering figure behind Prim, and her smile widens. "Gale."

His grey eyes soften. "Hey yourself, Catnip."

"It's so great to have you back, even if it is on a day like this," Prim smiles, taking both of Katniss' hands in hers. "You won't believe how much I missed you."

"She's been whining about it every single day," says Gale. "It's been torture."

"No matter, you're here now." Prim laughs and pulls Katniss into another hug. "I've missed you _so_, so much –"

"Pretty dress," says Gale softly, gesturing at her floaty white skirt.

"Thanks," says Katniss, glancing up at Gale. Her eyes meet his, and for a moment, she is sorely tempted – even if it is just for a moment – to tell him about what she saw on the train, just like the old times, but then he looks away and the moment is broken. He's right. Nothing has been the same ever since she won the Hunger Games and moved to District 4. She can only trust Finnick now.

"Come," she says, plastering a smile across her face, "let's head for the square."

* * *

Mayor Undersee seems too old for his job already, his hair greying and his face creased with worry lines as he rattles off the Treaty of Treason, like he does every year. Katniss is barely paying attention, her eyes are on the crowd of children, herded into their respective age groups, every face tight and resigned. As usual, Haymitch is nowhere in sight, not that Katniss expected him to actually be there for the Reaping ceremony.

Her eyes fall on Rory Hawthorne, Gale's younger brother. Her younger sister, despite her efforts, is still susceptible to the Reaping, and the Hawthorne boys are like her younger brothers, and the mere thought of either Rory or Vick entering the arena is simply too much. _But it won't happen,_ she tells herself hastily. _Gale would never allow either of them to take tesserae. _Prim is standing, pale and shivering, beside Rory, and Katniss sees their hands find each other.

Mayor Undersee steps off the stage, and is replaced by Effie, ever-enthusiastic as usual. Effie herself might be harmless, but it's almost impossible for Katniss to genuinely _like_ her, knowing that every year, she's responsible for picking the two kids who get sent to their deaths.

"Ladies first," Effie chirps, heading towards the girls' Reaping bowl. _Four years ago, my name was drawn from that bowl, and that changed my life,_ Katniss thinks to herself. Effie's smile seems to stretch even wider as she pops the little seal on the slip of paper and slides it open.

"Primrose Everdeen."

Prim is ghostly white, but she still makes her way forward unsteadily, one foot after another, one step at a time. Katniss is shocked into silence, and it's a while before she finds her voice, just staring at her younger sister trace the steps she took four years prior, to the nightmare that she's living now. Effie seems to have made the connection between the names, and casts a nervous glance at Katniss before beckoning Prim onto the stage. It seems unreal, watching her sister, with her two blonde braids and untucked shirt, fumble onstage, obviously trying very hard not to cry.

"No," whispers Katniss. Her voice is hoarse, and it cracks with that one word. "_No._" Beside her, Haymitch has gone silent, and his eyes are on her face, watching her carefully, his muscles tense. "No, PRIM YOU CAN'T –" she leaps from her seat and struggles to reach the stage; Haymitch is out of his chair in a flash, and even drunk, he's stronger than she is, cinching her in a headlock, unwilling to let go even as she thrashes. "PRIM, NO, DON'T – YOU'LL DIE! _PRIM_!" her shrieks echo around the square, which has suddenly gone dead silent. Several Peacekeepers snap into action and help Haymitch restrain her.

Katniss claws; she scratches, and she fights desperately against the restraining iron arms around her, but none of them release her. Finally she sags, all her energy drained out of her, and she slumps against the floor, starting to cry.

Not a single sound in the entire of the square can be heard save her crying, and Effie seems a tad unnerved as she goes on with the ceremony. "Um, I suppose I'll pick the boy next –"

"I volunteer."

All eyes flash to the girl stepping from the seventeens. Her hair is curled and blonde, her eyes are wide and blue, and her smile is thin and grim. "I volunteer as tribute." She moves swiftly towards the stage and takes the place of a trembling Prim, who almost collapses in her hurry off stage. Effie tries for a tentative smile. "Hello, dear. What's your name?"

"Madge Undersee," responds the girl. She looks towards the mayor, who can only be her father, and his eyes are shut, his face scrunched up tightly as if in pain. Effie clasps her hands together in delight. "Why, thank you for volunteering, Madge Undersee!" She embraces Madge dramatically, before she totters over to the other end of the stage, and digs around in the boy's Reaping bowl before finally producing another slip. One polished fingernail slips under the seal, and it cracks, both ends of the paper fluttering open to reveal –

"Rory Hawthorne."

Katniss' ears perk, her tear-stained eyes widen, and she digs her nails into the dirt, because _this can't be true,_ but lo and behold, the crowd of fourteens parts to reveal Rory Hawthorne, pale and shivering. She barely just recovered from the shock of her sister being Reaped, and here another blow smacks her right in the face. _It can't be a coincidence. _By now, Katniss is inconsolable, and she buries her face in her hands like she did that faithful day that Peeta Mellark died, the day she cried into her bloody fingers by his corpse.

And right now, she reflects, the situation isn't any better.

* * *

-;-

* * *

Sometimes she wonders if she actually truly loved Peeta.

She thinks of the many kisses they shared in the cave, of the tender touches and whispered secrets that passed between them. But none of it actually felt _real_, on the contrary it felt utterly surreal, as if they had been in a dream. The Hunger Games are but a distant memory now, but she still remembers them in vivid detail, able to hear every single drop on the roof of the cave, feel the coarse bramble woven to mask the mouth of the cave, the texture of the cold stone floor – all of it is etched permanently into her memory.

She remembers his lips, soft and warm on hers, but there was nothing to those kisses, no hidden passion. Once – but only once – she felt something stirring within her, but her head wound split open as they kissed feverishly and she pulled away to lie down once more. After that, every touch was a flatline, none bringing that strange lust from within ever again.

She thinks of his story, the one about her on the first day of school with her red dress and the valley song. That tale actually holds some elements of truth, but it can't be real. She saw it in his eyes, after the first kiss. He didn't really love her, despite what she thought. She'd speculated – maybe even hoped – for a split second that it wasn't all an act, but after the first time she kissed him, when she pulled back, she saw nothing in his cold blue eyes. That was when she knew everything, from the interview to his dramatic self-sacrifical act, had all been for the audience.

Which suited her just fine, too, because then she didn't have to lie to him. And if there was one thing Katniss Everdeen hated, it was lying.

* * *

"I love you."

The raindrops slide down his cheeks, giving off the impression that he's crying as he cradles her face in his hands. She looks up at him, eyes brimming with tears and full of hope.

"Really?"

"Of course. I'd never lie to you."

At this she relaxes, sagging against his chest, and hugs him tightly, never wanting to let this moment pass.

* * *

"Hey, Luck, is Finnick here today?" Katniss slips onto one of the high stools by the bar, flashing a smile at the bargirl that she's come to befriend. She's at one of the more popular nightclubs in the Capitol, District Fourteen, where she knows Finnick frequents. The only part of District Fourteen she ever visits is the bar, usually Finnick will come to find her. She's not one for dancing, and the rooms at the back of the club are out-of-bounds without special permission, which she's never needed. She can only wonder what goes on in there.

"Is he ever," snorts Lucketta, gesturing in the general direction of the rooms at the back of the club. Katniss frowns, and Lucketta goes back to polishing dusty wine glasses. "Room Four. I usually wouldn't give these keycards out to people not . . . involved in the _business_, but I'll make a special exception for you." She lifts a keycard dangling off a hook from the wall behind her and hands it to Katniss. "Here you go, Sugar."

"Thanks, Luck!" she smiles, and slides off her stool, swinging the keycard and humming as she heads down the carpeted corridor, to the door labelled "4" in large block letters. There's a sharp _beep_ as she waves the card before the lock, and the little flashlight beside the knob glows green. Her smile widening, she turns the knob and yanks open the door.

And stares.

Finnick freezes, stands up and seizes a nearby towel, tying it around his waist. The girl lying sprawled against the sheets murmurs some complaint, before sighting Katniss and crawling beneath the duvet without another word. Finnick's eyes are shut, as if warding off some bright light, and he presses a hand against his temple as he leans against the doorframe.

"Katniss," he asks, almost tiredly, "what are you doing here?"

* * *

-;-

* * *

"You know, I think it's actually better that Cato killed Peeta," Katniss remarks hollowly as she and Rory sit together in the holding room, waiting for his friends and relatives to come visit him in the one hour before they're all shipped off to the Capitol together. Madge and Haymitch are in another room, where, presumably, he is drunk, and she's watching over him in dismay.

Rory looks at her, startled, confusion showing through the fear on his face. "Huh? W – why would you want that?"

"Because then I didn't have to kill him myself," she answers, tilting her head to look at him, a bitter tone to her voice. Her face is shadowed against the dusty light filtering through the grimy window, adding a sinister edge to her gaunt features. "Always remember that, Rory. No matter who you ally with – even if it's your district partner – you're going to have to kill all of them, anyway. So even if you end up allying with Madge –" at this point, her voice catches in her throat, but she swallows hard and goes on, "if you want to live, you have to kill her. And would you rather do that yourself or have someone else do it?"

Rory has no response to this, so Katniss squeezes his hand and looks him in the eye. "Just tell me this, Rory. Do you like my sister?"

A pale flush spreads through Rory's cheeks. "Y – yes."

"Do you want to win the Hunger Games, and come back to her alive? Or do you want to cause her grief?" Rory pales even further, and he hiccups a little, but answers all the same.

"I want to win."

"Good." Katniss manages a small smile. "Rory, believe me when I say that I will try _everything in my power _to allow you to win. Are you willing to trust me with your life?"

Rory's expression hardens. "Yes."

Katniss nods, slowly, looking almost relieved. "That's a start." _For Rory, I need to pull myself together_, she tells herself. _I can't lost control now. I have to be able to make the best choices, the best decisions, the best deals in order for him to win._ She takes a deep breath, and exhales through her nose. _And I'm going to start with his stylist._

* * *

"How long have you been designing?"

"A while."

"And this is your . . . "

"First year in the Games."

"Ah, so they gave you District Twelve." Katniss flicks through the pages of highly detailed designs, each one vivid, and colored to perfection. "No," the person in front of her says, and she looks up, a tad startled.

"No," Cinna Pelhure repeats, more forcefully this time, his hazel eyes meeting Katniss' cold grey ones. "I asked for District Twelve."

She is momentarily stunned by his tone of voice, the hidden passion beneath it, but soon dismisses it and looks back down to his portfolio, starting to browse once more, examining each design in great detail. Then one particular design causes her to freeze, and she looks at it more carefully now. It's a white dress, flickering with flames to reveal a darker skirt beneath. The entire page recounts the process of the snow white dress burning up, one diagram melding into the other seamlessly, and when it's complete the dress is an ashy grey, with white spots dotting the draping spidersilk sleeves. _It's a mockingjay,_ she realizes, her grip tightening on the folder. Almost involuntarily her eyes glance down to the golden mockingjay pin resting on her collarbone. When she looks back up to Cinna, his eyes are solemn.

"You have a . . . very _impressive_ resume, Mister Pelhure." She snaps the file shut and rests her elbows on the table, her eyes steely and determined. "I'm sure it will be a pleasure working with you."

* * *

Tear-filled blue eyes, fingers digging into her palms. "You have to help Rory win, Katniss. You have to, and I know you can." She tries to pull away from his sister's grasp, not willing to meet her eyes.

"Prim, I can't promise you anything –"

"You have to," Prim repeats. "You promised you would come back. And you did. Katniss, _please._"

She bites her lip, but she can already feel her will dissolving. "Fine," she whispers. "I promise."

* * *

-;-

* * *

"She didn't mean anything, I promise," he whispers, fingers ghosting a touch along her jawline, coming to rest against her arched cheekbones. She pulls away, inclining her head and turning away. She's barely taken a step back when his arms go around her from behind, embracing her tightly. Once again, she shrugs free of his grasp, and starts to walk away as the skies rumble overhead.

A single drop lands on her head, and she looks up in surprise, blinking back tears; she holds out a hand and another drop lands on it, sliding between her fingers. Slowly more and more raindrops start pouring down from the grey heavens, pelting them and soaking them through. Almost immediately she starts to sob, loud, noisy, heartbroken sobbing, because the first day he said he loved her, it had also been raining.

She looks back at him, and his face is twisted in anguish and pain, fringe plastered to his forehead by the oncoming downpour. She stares at him for a while, long and hard, until her resolve finally cracks and she all but lunges for him, her fingers twisting into his shirt as she kisses him, full, on the mouth. His hands skate down her back and lock around her waist, as hers make their way up to his head, running through his matted, tangled hair; and she kisses him until she can no longer breathe, pulling back and panting through her swollen lips.

"I promise," he repeats, gripping her shoulders firmly, and she stares up at him through her damp fringe, utterly solemn.

"You'd better mean it."

"Of course I do."

* * *

The second time she walks in on him with a woman is almost as, if not equally, startling. This time it's at his flat, which she has a key to, and she's there because she bought him a new set of china. When she sees the two of them spreadeagled against the sofa, she drops the package she's holding; the china teacups burst free from the brown paper and smash against the floor, sending shards of porcelain skittering everywhere. Thankfully, however, both of them are fully-clothed, and he's up in a flash, steering the other woman towards the door and agreeing to another appointment later that week. With a coy wink she's on her way, and he slams the door shut behind her.

For a while, neither of them say anything, until Finnick breaks the silence.

"This is what I am, Katniss," he says, his sea-green eyes not leaving her stony grey ones. "This is who I am. A common whore, and nothing more." He sighs heavily and turns away, before curling his fingers into a fist and smashing it against the cement wall. She gives a start of surprise, and he pulls his fist away bloody, but merely stares at it, as if not comprehending what is happening.

"You're – you're bleeding," she stammers, standing up. He waves her off.

"President Snow . . . sells the victors," he says after a while. "You're too young. It hasn't started for you yet. But trust me, it will, and when it does, I – I don't know what I'll do. If it's me, it's still okay, but _you_, Katniss . . . _you_ . . . "

"Finnick," she gets out.

"I'll probably go and get drunk, like Haymitch," he laughs, bitterly. "That'll make it less painful."

"Finnick," she repeats, more firmly this time.

"How could you love me, Katniss?" he turns his head to look at her, now; his eyes are glittering with tears, a hidden sorrow deep within them. "How could you _stand_ to love me, knowing what I've done, how many women I've slept with, how many _men_ I've slept with –"

"_Finnick_!"

He seems to jolt back into reality, and falls silent as she moves towards him, tentatively at first, until she reaches him, and places a reassuring hand on his shoulder. "No matter who you are, _what_ you are, you're never going to be anything but Finnick Odair to me." She says gently, her voice soft. "Because you're mine and I'm yours, and that's all that matters."

He blinks even harder, now, and a single tear rolls through his eyelashes and spills down his cheek. "Katniss –"

"Hush, now," she says, and pulls him into a hug, burying her face in his shoulder. It's a while before his arms go around her in response, but all the same, it's worth it, because she is his and he is hers, and they love each other.

And that's all that matters.

* * *

**A/N** –– this was beta'd by Diana and looked over by the lovely Louise. Applaud them both, will you? this is going to be a multichap, my first one, which i'm _pretty_ excited for XD thanks for reading till here, and please review? :3


	2. II

**A/N — **you have no idea how hard this chapter was to write, but I struggled through most of it somehow, and managed it in the end so; thank you to all the reviewers of the previous chapter, it really made my day :D Madge is given a tad more background in this one, and they're going into the Games next chapter~ hope you like it, and as usual, review. It might take me a while longer to update this fic, because I'm starting on a Narnia oneshot that's pretty long, as well as some everlark oneshots. :P

as you may notice, I took some of the lines from the movie book, at the parts where Cinna asks Madge whether she's afraid of fire, and when Caesar is commenting on the chariots(;

this chapter is dedicated to the lovely claireleanne.

* * *

**II.**

* * *

**流浪。**

* * *

_just how much air will I need to breathe  
__when your tide washes over me  
__there's only one way to find out  
__but will you let me drown?_

* * *

"FINNICK!" she hurtles into his arms without a second thought, and he whirls around, surprise written all over his face, but hugs her all the same. "I heard about Rory," he whispers after they break apart, his eyes searching her face. "Are you alright?"

She shrugs; she's just glad to seen him because she hasn't for hours, since she stepped into the Capitol. "How are your tributes this year?"

"Decent," he admits, "but completely hopeless. They have _no_ personality whatsoever. How's Prim?"

"Fine," she answers, but he merely raises his eyebrows.

"Katniss!" Effie's voice rings annoyingly over the buzz and chatter of the crowd. "Katniss, darling, where are you? We have to leave for the Training Centre now!" Almost unwillingly, Katniss glances reluctantly in the direction from which the escort's voice came from. "Huh. Guess I have to go now." She looks up at Finnick expectantly.

"I have to go attend my tributes, too. I'll miss you."

"Miss you more." There is something in his eyes, something that indicates that he doesn't think this conversation to be over. She thinks about his skepticism at the mere mention of Prim, and knows that something must be up. Staring after his retreating back, she can only wonder what.

* * *

There's a palpable tension in the stagnant silence; no one breathes a single word. Katniss' eyes dart between Rory and Madge, both of whom have their heads inclined and both of them look extremely tense. Haymitch, to no one's surprise, is drunk again, slumped onto the satin seat beside Katniss, drooling in his sleep. Katniss tries her best to ignore him, and breaks the silence.

"So."

Madge's head snaps up; Katniss is surprised to see that her eyes are red-rimmed. "Yeah, we get it, you're going to mentor _him._" She jerks her chin in Rory's general direction, scowling as if he has done her wrong in some way. Rory flinches at her words.

Katniss is vaguely surprised. "What?"

"Oh, come on, we all know that you're best friends with his older brother, wait, what was that again? Oh, yeah, _cousins._" Madge spits the word as if it is poison. "We all know that you're going to try your _very best _to get him home because you know him personally, so you know what? It just looks like I'll have to find my way home myself. Don't worry. I don't need your help."

"That's not true," Katniss argues. "I'm going to try and help both of you equally—"

"But when it comes down to the crunch, who are you going to pick, huh? Every mentor has to pick one person to channel all their resources into, and obviously it'll be _him._" Madge stands now, pushing her chair back from the table, her eyes flashing dangerously.

"Madge," says Katniss, not even looking up, "sit down. I am not going to favour Rory simply because I know him personally. As for your second question, I'll just have to pick the stronger of you two to help most." Silence once more descends on the room, and Madge still doesn't budge. Katniss sighs through her nose exasperatedly. "Madge, sit _down._"

Madge plonks back down onto her chair, but she crosses her arms and refuses to meet Katniss' eyes. Rory doesn't even dare look up at either of them now, his eyes fixed on the floor. He's visibly frightened, Katniss notes, heaving a mental sigh. _I wish this weren't so hard. I wish—_oh, how she wishes her life were more simple, that she weren't a victor and faced with these impossible choices. "Right now, I just want to go over your strategies with you, so I'd appreciate it if you could voice out whatever you had planned."

Madge remains stony-faced and silent, so Katniss turns to Rory. "Rory?" her voice is gentle. "How about you? What skills do you have?"

"U—uh," Rory stammers, "I'm good at hiding."

"There's a start," she responds encouragingly, "sometimes the victors are those who are smart enough to hide and keep clear out of the path of other tributes. Good." Rory flushes under her praise, and she turns to Madge. "Madge, what about you?"

There's a few minutes of pause before Madge finally answers. "I'm from the Merchant Quarters of the District, I don't _have_ any survival skills that might come in useful. I'm just hopeless, okay?"

"Anything can be useful in the arena, Madge," Katniss says evenly. "Go on, just tell us."

The younger girl hesitates, before answering. "Back in District Twelve—my father used to throw darts with me. I wasn't bad at that."

"You see," says Katniss triumphantly. "As I said, anything can be useful in the arena. Now, just think about it, swap those darts for a few knives and the room falls silent at her words, because they all know what she means. _You could kill a few people. _But no one really wants to say it.

"Anyway," continues Katniss, "we're just going to have to work on whatever skills you currently have, and then we'll devise the basis of our strategies from there what angles you want to play, what to do in the arena, so on and so forth. But you're both going to have to trust me. Do you trust me?" She looks to Rory, who nods feverishly. Her eyes drift over his head and rest on Madge, whose eyes are level with hers.

Madge regards her evenly for a few minutes, before nodding, slowly. Katniss exhales a breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding; she'd half expected the seventeen-year-old to say no.

"Excellent," she says, and she means it.

* * *

-;-

* * *

Life in District Twelve is boring and grey as usual, until one day there's a knock on the door of her house in the Victor's Village. She looks up, startled, because she never has visitors. The only people who _might _come over are her sister and mother, who wouldn't knock, and Haymitch, who never visits anyway. _Is it the Capitol_? Her heart pounds in her chest as she scrambles to answer the door. With one fluid motion, she yanks open the door, and her eyes widen.

Johanna Mason, victor of the 71st Hunger Games, stands in the doorway, admiring the doorframe. "Ash wood," she says, eyebrows raised appraisingly. "Not bad."

Katniss steps aside to let her in, and it's only then that she realizes Johanna has a couple of bags with her, which she lugs across the threshold and into the living area. "Uh, Johanna," Katniss asks tentatively, "are you planning on, uh, staying or something?"

"Yep, I figured that you might want a housemate, since we're both so lonely and everything," Johanna says, yawning widely and stretching. Katniss still hovers in the doorway, uncertain. "Oh, come on, don't be such a wet blanket. We're going to have fun!" when she sees that Katniss _still _isn't convinced, she decides to play the guilt card. "And, seriously, is this any way to treat a friend who travelled miles just to reach here?"

"Okay, it is rather nice to see you, Johanna," admits Katniss. "But—"

"No buts, okay? I'm here to stay with you, for a couple of months maybe, probably even until the next Hunger Games. Or I could move here permanently! How does that sound?" Johanna whirls around with a bright smile on her face.

" . . . terrible. Jo, you can't stay here! What about your family?"

"Don't have any family."

"What about your friends?"

"Don't have any friends."

"Oh, cut it out. Fine. What about your stuff back home in District Seven?"

"This _is_ all my stuff from District Seven!" Johanna gestures to the bags at her feet. "And who cares, even if I forgot a few little things I can easily buy more with the Capitol's filthy money." Katniss looks on the brink of tearing her hair out, so Johanna quickly adds, "and of course, you wouldn't throw me out to live on the streets, now would you?"

Katniss shifts uneasily. "Oh, all right! But just for one night only."

Johanna winks at her. "You bet."

* * *

That one night becomes two nights, and those two nights a week, and that week a month, and so on and so forth. It's a new experience, having a housemate, because they squabble over the smallest of things—whoever left the towels in the living room, who left crumbs on the staircase. And just as she promised, Johanna is there for Katniss through ever twist and turn in her life.

Whenever she wakes gasping from terrifying nightmares, reenactments of her Games, Johanna is always there to comfort her, to offer her a cup of warm cocoa and hold her in her arms. Even though Johanna is stubborn, stubborn to the extent that she refuses to show any fear, Katniss knows when Johanna has her nightmares, too she sometimes cries out from the other room in the middle of the night, things like, "No, not them please, no, I'll do anything—"

_"What about your family?"_

_"Don't have any family."_

_"What about your friends?"_

_"Don't have any friends."_

And instinctively Katniss knows that her friend's nightmares aren't about the Games, they're about watching her family members and friends being killed, one by one, before her very eyes.

She wishes she could sympathize, but she really can't, because she doesn't understand and never will.

* * *

She sees Gale before her, Gale forced to his knees, the soldier's musket pressed to his temple and the shot rings clear, echoing around the empty square. Katniss screams, trying to rush to his side, but the Peacekeepers have a firm grip on her and refuse to let go. "Gale. GALE! _No, you're not dead, Gale Hawthorne _She reaches for him, but her fingers meet empty air.

Gale is dragged away, a tearful Prim is next in line. Katniss' eyes widen. "No, Prim you can't—don't—"

Prim is shoved by one of the Peackeepers; she stumbles and trips, landing on the skin of her knees and palms. Katniss can see it in her sister's eyes, she's trying to be strong, trying not to bawl in front of these cruel people, why give them the pleasure—?

The cold barrel of the gun is braced against her head, and Prim flinches. Katniss looks away, she can't bear to watch. But another Peacekeeper grabs hold of her head and turns it so that she's staring straight into the watery blue eyes of her younger sister.

Prim's lower lip trembles.

The gun is fired.

The bullet passes clean through her head, and her brains splatter onto the floor as the light goes from Prim's eyes and she topples over, dead. Katniss screams, in pain and anguish, in pure, cold fury, and she tears free from the Peacekeeper's grasp, jumping at the wielder of the gun, the one who fired the shot, the one who _killed_ her sister, and she lunges at his face, determined to claw his eyes out—

And she wakes, sobbing, in her own bed, cold sweat and tears dotting her cheeks, her fingers curled tightly into the sheets beside her, nails digging into her palms. She sits up, slowing her breathing and attempting to calm herself. This is the first night that Johanna hasn't come running the moment she heard her screams, so she must pull herself together on her own.

Slowly, painfully, she pulls herself out of bed, tests her weight on her unsteady legs, and makes her way out onto the landing. The house is quiet in the night, brightly-lit but empty, and Katniss lets out a sigh before plodding down the stairs, each step creaking loudly as she sets foot on it. There's some movement behind her, and she whirls around to see someone standing in the doorway to Johanna's room. A slow smile spreads across her face. "Hey, Jo. Want to come down for a cup of cocoa?"

* * *

-;-

* * *

"The tracker jacker venom in your system is a highly concentrated serum," says the doctor, pressing his latex-covered fingers together and regarding her cautiously. "It may or may not completely leave your system, and even if it does, it may take years. The tracker jacker that stung you was a mutation amongst all of our creations. The Capitol apologizes for the inconveniences caused."

Katniss smothers her trembly feelings. "What how will this affect my health?"

"You will have quite vivid hallucinations," the doctor says. "It will be quite hard to distinct from what's real, and what's not."

"So?" Katniss shuts her eyes and sighs. "What do you suggest we do?"

There is something like pity in the doctor's voice as he speaks. "Pray and hope for the best."

* * *

So whenever she comes to, her heart hammering in her chest and sweat streaking down her face, she wonders, _what's real, and what's not_?

* * *

-;-

* * *

"You know, I hardly even remember my Games anymore," she says, staring down at the marshmallows bobbing in her cup of cocoa. Johanna looks up, a tad startled. "How can you say such a thing? I hear you screaming every night—"

"Yeah, and I wonder, where do my nightmares come from? Are they purely a figment of my imagination, previously normal, but now twisted and deformed?" Katniss brings her porcelain mug to her lips and sips. hardly even know what's real anymore. You know the tracker jacker venom in my Games? Yeah, that was a certain kind o _enhanced _serum, which I was told would never really be free of my system. I don't—I don't know."

"Katniss," says Johanna slowly, "I don't understand what you're asking."

"If I know what's real and what's not, all these nightmares might go away!" her eyes shine at the prospect. "No more sleepless nights. We could enjoy every night without having those horrible nightmares." Johanna shakes her head. "No, no—"

"Jo, this could be—"

"Katniss, whatever you do, the nightmares will always be there. Please don't, it'll make everything worse, reopen old wounds, make you cry again—"

"I want to do this, Johanna," says Katniss firmly. She exhales. "I want to watch my Hunger Games."

The tapes come the very next day, in a cardboard box from the Capitol. After voicing her wish out to Effie over the phone, the escort had trilled, "yes, of course, anything!" and true to her word, had sent records of her Hunger Games. She'd also asked for Johanna's, but the moment she saw the box in the living room, Johanna had locked herself up in her room. Katniss supposed that there wasn't any chance of _her_ coming down. No matter.

She sifts through the tapes till she finds one labelled 'part one', and heads over to the player, sliding the tape into the empty slot. Just as the television flickers to life, she hears Johanna stomp down the steps, and whirls around to see her stab the television remote, causing the screen behind her to flash and go out. "Let's try something else," Johanna says almost breathlessly. "Let's play a game."

It takes less than five minutes to explain the "game" to her; basically, whenever she encounters a memory that she's unsure of, she only has to say, "Real or not real?" and the other person, whoever he or she is, has to answer her whether it's real or not. It's a simple system which _might _be more effective than expected, but as she stares wistfully at the tapes discarded on the television console, Katniss decides that, no matter what, she wants to watch her Hunger Games.

* * *

-;-

* * *

She can feel the rain pounding down on her, soaking her thoroughly, but he's in front of her, and that's all that matters.

"You love me," she whispers. "Real or not real?"

And even though his answer is barely audible over the rain, she can still hear it, loud and clear, echoing in her ears.

"Real."

* * *

-;-

* * *

Madge's eyes narrow as Cinna circles her once, twice, then comes to a stop, tapping a finger against his chin appraisingly. "So," she asks, almost defensively, "you're here to make me look pretty?"

"No," he answers. "I'm here to help you make an impression. Tell me," he says, and the light in his eyes frightens her, "are you afraid of fire?"

"Yes, the designers have certainly outdone themselves this year, and what on_earth_ is that?" Caesar Flickerman breaks off, as the City Circle bursts out in murmuring. "There seems to be some sort of afterglow from behind the chariots and oh my _goodness_!" he exclaims, and the crowds explode in raucous cheering. "Ladies and gentlemen, it seems that the District Twelve tributes are on _fire_!"

And seated before the television screen in the Training Centre, Katniss Everdeen begins to smile.

* * *

It's almost impossible for Katniss to sleep, with the knowledge that Rory and Madge will be starting their training the very next day. She can't help but constantly worry about how she's about to seal sponsorship deals, how she's going to help them and assist them in every way possible, because Haymitch obviously isn't going to be much help.

She crawls mutedly out of bed and slips on a silk robe before heading out into the living area for a cup of warm milk, but to her utmost surprise, Madge Undersee is sitting there, flicking through the television channels. She looks up when she sees Katniss, and raises her eyebrows but doesn't say a thing, just returning her gaze to the screen.

"You volunteered to save my sister."

It wasn't supposed to come out like that, and Katniss almost clamps a hand over her mouth in horror at her words. Madge snorts, and looks her squarely in the eye. "Yeah, I guess I did."

Katniss takes a deep breath before going on, and she simply says, "Why?"

Madge actually laughs at this point in time, and cracks a genuine smile. "This is going to sound so weird, but alright. Thing is, Peeta Mellark was like an older brother to me." At the mere mention of his name, Katniss freezes up, but Madge ploughs on. "All my life, he's been there for me and you tried _so _hard to keep him alive in the arena—so I felt like I was _indebted _to you in some way. That, and I'm pretty fond of your little sis. She's been selling me cheese and strawberries for a couple of months now."

They lapse into awkward silence, and Katniss avoids the other girl's eyes. "Thank you," she says softly.

Madge just nods and turns back to the television. At that moment, the warm milk Katniss ordered arrives, and with a murmur of thanks to the Avox she accepts the porcelain mug and stands up. At the doorway she pauses, and almost looks back, but then simply shakes her head tiredly and moves on.

* * *

Haymitch, strangely enough, is sober as he stumbles into the dining area, where Katniss, Rory and Madge are tucking into their breakfast. Rory looks overwhelmed at the sight of all the delicate meringues and daintily iced cupcakes, whereas Madge seems used to it, which she probably is, being the mayor's daughter.

"Eat up," says Katniss to Rory, placing a pastry on his china plate. He smiles up at her, his childish innocence once more showing through, and she returns the smile tightly before turning away, feeling as if a sceptre has been stabbed through her heart. Rory tries to cut into the pastry without using his hands, but struggles with the golden cutlery. Effie notices this, and smiles kindly.

"At least you two have decent manners. The pair last year ate everything with their hands like a couple of savages. It completely upset my digestion!" she exclaims, before dabbing at her painted lips with a napkin. The previously cheerful atmosphere in the room plunges; Rory clenches his knife and fork so tightly his knuckles go white, and Madge tenses up, frozen in place.

"The two kids last year were from the Seam," Katniss snaps, her throat constricting at the memory of them. "They'd never seen that much food in their life, and table manners were probably the last thing on their minds." She scowls fiercely at Effie, who looks confused, as if not understanding what she'd said wrong. "I don't—"

Effie is cut off as Madge flings her cutlery aside and stalks from the room without another word. Effie's eyes widen to the size of dinner plates, and she looks around, asking in a tremulous voice, "is it something I said?" While Katniss simply stares down at her scrambled eggs and sighs.

* * *

When Katniss walks into the living room to give her tributes a proper send-off before training, she finds Haymitch already in there, briefing them. "—try and keep your skills a secret, you want to _surprise_ them," he says, and both Madge and Rory nod seriously. Haymitch then gives a huge yawn and rubs his bloodshot eyes, before standing up. "I'll leave you to her then," he announces, indicating that he's aware of Katniss' presence, before lumbering off.

Now Madge and Rory's eyes are on Katniss, and she clears her throat uncomfortably before taking a tentative step forwards. Both tributes are dressed in identical training costumes—long dark pants and a moss green turtleneck. It is only then that Katniss realizes Madge is wearing a golden locket on a chain around her neck, which she fingers nervously. It must be her district token, Katniss realizes, before snapping back to reality as the girl asks, "so, any advice for us?"

"Um, just follow what Haymitch said, stay together, and don't hook up with the Careers." Katniss thinks back to how Peeta got in with the Careers the year before, the hatred that boiled up inside of her at the mere sight. "I don't care if they're the strongest tributes, they're all ruthless, merciless killers, and if you ally with them you might wake up one day with a knife in your back."

A chill settles on the room; Madge and Rory nod in acknowledgement. "Good." Feeling abruptly awkward, Katniss shifts uncomfortably. "Um, good luck then."

She doesn't have to elaborate further, because at that point in time, Effie bustles into the room, prepared to take both Rory and Madge down to the gymnasium. "All set, children?" she smiles brightly, as if that morning's incident hadn't occurred. Both tributes look down at the floor instantly and mumble assent; Effie doesn't notice that anything's wrong. "Great! Let's go!"

Katniss steps aside to let the three of them pass, but at the last minute, Rory looks back at her, fear evident in his eyes. Katniss rearranges her features into what she hopes is a reassuring expression and nods earnestly. With faint traces of a smile touching his lips, Rory swivels back around. The smile immediately drops from her face and Katniss Everdeen watches her tributes head off for their first day of training filled with nothing but dread.

* * *

-;-

* * *

"I killed the boy from District One. Real or not real?"

Johanna thinks briefly before nodding slowly. "Real. You shot him in the neck."

"Because he killed Rue." This time, it isn't a question, but Johanna regards Katniss cautiously and nods anyway. Katniss closes her eyes, absorbing the fact and classifying it under 'real' in her mind. "Okay. I dropped a nest of tracker jackers on Peeta and the Careers."

At this, Johanna bursts out laughing. Unsure, Katniss cracks a smile too. "Yes," says Johanna, spluttering for laughter. "That was possibly the funniest thing I'd ever seen. I couldn't stop laughing." To be perfectly honest, Katniss doesn't see anything vaguely amusing about dropping a hive of killer wasps on other human beings, but Johanna's always been _different_, so she lets it slide. "I killed Cato."

Johanna tenses, sensing that she's treading on dangerous ground, a minefield. ". . . real."

"And Peeta." Katniss' voice breaks on the last word, but she grits her teeth, staring down at her clenched fists.

"Not real. Katniss, how many times do we have to go through this? You didn't kill Peeta, love. It was the Capitol." Johanna sounds exasperated, because they've gone over this a million times; she's sick and tired of having to repeat herself over and over again. Katniss' lower lip trembles, and her surroundings get dangerously shiny, sparklling as if someone had injected glitter into her vision. "You didn't kill any of them, not Cato, not Peeta, not the boy from District One. _It wasn't your fault, Katniss,_" she says impatiently, but none of this reassures Katniss, only gets her even more agitated.

"You're confusing me! You said I killed them, now you say I didn't, which one is real?" all her frustration and anger bubbles up, and Katniss stomps from the kitchen. Johanna calls after her, but she ignores it, stumbling blindly down the corridor, up the stairs, across the landing and into her room, where she shuts the door and locks it, before collapsing against it, shivering. Her surroundings fade to normal, and she bursts out in tears. _Why can't I tell what's real and what's not? _she asks herself numbly. _Real or not real, Katniss? Real or not real?_

* * *

Before she knows it, it's time for the 72nd Annual Hunger Games. It's Katniss' second year mentoring, and Johanna's first. Katniss thinks back to the previous year's Games, when her tribute, Reya, was ripped apart by wolf-mutts, right before her eyes. She blinks, hard, trying to rid the image from her mind. Standing on the station platform waiting for the train that will take her back to District Seven, Johanna is visibly tense, and awkwardly, Katniss reaches out and pats her shoulder. Johanna tries for a grateful smile, but it comes out more like a grimace.

There is a distant tooting sound, and Katniss squints out into the fog, detecting the silhouette of the train getting larger and larger. Soon the chugging pervades the air, and the train draws to a stop directly before the two of them.

A door on the second carriage slides open, to reveal a Capitol attendant smiling brightly down at them. "Greetings, Miss Mason, Miss Everdeen." Katniss manages a smile and nods back, while Johanna stares staunchly ahead, not revealing any emotion. The attendant blinks once before moving on with his spiel. "Miss Mason, the train will escort you back to District Seven for the Reapings tomorrow." He steps back, clearing the doorway, and presses a button on the wall which causes a small flight of steps to unfold from the train, the bottom step just brushing the cold granite floor of the station.

"Bye," Katniss says, her voice barely audible, as Johanna boards the train without another word. At the last minute she turns around and says, flatly, "I'll be back," before turning around and heading into the train. The Capitol attendant smiles helplessly at Katniss, bows stiffly, then presses the same button again. The steps retract back into the train, the door slides shut, and soon the train is chugging off into the mist, a distant memory.

"I know," whispers Katniss, and she knows that Johanna can hear her, no matter how far away she is. Heaving a sigh, she turns around, and begins the journey home alone.

* * *

**A/N—**well this chapter was complete shit, I'm sorry :L /hopefully I'll get more inspiration for the next one, yes? also, FF is screwing with me, and it took out all my dashes and punctuation and even words and letters, so I had to read through the chapter three times to replace everything. as a result I'm exceedingly pissed with this chapter and I also might've missed to a few things. /le sniff—forgive me. D:

/i will do a lengthy explanation about the characterization in this story one day—but not today(;

review? :3

and please do not favourite or alert without reviewing, thanks much(:


	3. III

**A/N** — flargle, this was horrible to write too D: I just keep wanting to skip everything to the Games and then the rebellion and then everything and argh, I've said too much ;) hope everything in this chapter makes sense and sigh why is my life what creys. that didn't make any sense, did that? :P andlol i know ravioli isn't cooked in sandalwood ovens (just thought it was a weird thing to say)

_trigger warnings: themes__ of attempted rape and forced sexual slavery_  
if anyone thinks that the rating should be upped to 'M', don't hesitate to say so, 'kay? (:

this chapter is dedicated to middy / keep my issues drawn, because she's beautiful and amazing :D /and this is a not-so-subtle ploy to get her to finally read this story, uh-huh.

* * *

**III.**

* * *

**滴水之恩,当以涌泉相报。**

* * *

_moving down the streams of my lifetime  
pulls the fascination in my sleeve  
cooling off the fire of my longing  
boiling off my cold within his heat_

* * *

Katniss Everdeen has only met President Coriolanus Snow once in her life — when she was crowned Victor of the 70th Hunger Games. After that, she's only seen him every year at the Games, but never have they had the inclination to converse or to even acknowledge each other. This is partly why she's extremely surprised to see him waiting for her in her room after she's sent off her tributes.

Her eyes widen and she pauses in the doorway, momentarily stunned, before quickly backtracking and inclining her head. "President Snow."

"Miss Everdeen," he answers with a smile that doesn't quite reach his snakelike eyes, which glitter menacingly in the light filtering through the drapes fluttering before her window. "How . . . _lovely_ to see you."

"I wish I could say the same," she responds carefully, sensing she's treading on a minefield, "but I'm not used to people other than myself and my Avox coming in here, so . . . "

"Let's get to the chase, and stop playing games with one another," Snow's smile drops from his face and he stands from where he's seated in an armchair, beside a table with a vase of roses that she's _certain_ weren't there before his visit. "I assume you know why I'm here." She watches him warily, and slowly shakes her head. He seems to be resisting the urge to roll his eyes as he goes on. "I'm here to talk to you about your sister being Reaped. A tragedy, was it not?"_  
_

Katniss still doesn't quite understand. "Yes . . ."

"That's what the world would see it." He turns swiftly on his heel and paces away from her, pausing at the window and drawing away the curtains, peering down into the streets packed with Capitolites. "They're all so blissfully oblivious. To them, it would just be a tragedy — imagine, Katniss Everdeen's sister reaped — the very one she'd risked her life to protect." Snow swivels around to face her, his smile poisonous. "But you, Miss Everdeen . . . you understand, don't you?"

Katniss' brain is on overdrive, racing through the questions and confusion and working on unknitting the mystery he's lain out before her. When the truth dawns on her it's so _obvious_ she's surprised she didn't see it at first. Her thoughts flash immediately to Finnick's skepticism at the mention of Prim. _He knew._ Her grey eyes lift to Snow's weathered face, steely and hard. "The Reaping was rigged."

Snow laughs aloud; when he calms he gazes condescendingly at her. "You see, a certain Mister Odair refused to return to the Capitol when one of his biggest clients called to him. And when asked for a reason, he refused to indulge us. Quite a loyal fellow you have there, don't you think? _Fortunately_, the Capitol is able to monitor the lives of their victors. And the reason why Mister Odair wasn't here in the Capitol was because _you _were moving in with him."

Katniss tenses; everything makes sense now. The Capitol, furious at his refusal, had ordered for Katniss to be punished. And thus they had punished the person closest to her — her sister.

"But — but what about Rory?" she asks, hating the fact that her voice trembles. She clenches her fists, forcing herself to calm down before she meets his gaze once more. "Was Rory's reaping rigged, too? He's my cousin, you know."

"Oh, Miss Everdeen," Snow sighs, almost dramatically, "I thought we'd agreed not to lie to each other." Katniss stares into her his eyes, and she can see it — he'll do anything to punish her, kill everyone she holds dear to her. She thinks of Johanna, without a family and friendless, all alone in this miserable, miserable world. She closes her eyes tightly and lets out a shuddering breath, then looks back up at him.

"What do you want me to do?"

Her heart almost stops as his lips shape the words.

"Stay away from Finnick Odair."

* * *

-;-

* * *

She receives the first call when she's eighteen, and old enough by the Capitol's standards. It's directly after the 72nd Hunger Games, and she's just killed her second tribute — she's barely gotten over the shock and is expecting Johanna's return to District Twelve at five that day. Holed up in her room and idly staring at blank sketchbooks — her 'talent' that she's supposed to be developing — she's extremely surprised to hear the phone ring.

_Nobody ever calls_, she thinks, pushing her chair back from the table with an awful scraping noise; heading for the ringing phone on her dresser. She picks it up curiously and presses the 'answer' button. "Hello?"

"Hello, Katniss!" trills Effie; Katniss stifles a groan.

"Um, hello, Effie." Katniss presses a hand to her temple. "Can I ask why you're calling?"

"Why, to summon you to the Capitol, of course! We've just received a call from your _very first_ client! Mister Seneca Crane thought you looked particularly _gorgeous _at this year's Games, and has requested your company for one evening!" Effie, as always, sounds over-energetic and overly-cheerful.

The request sounds innocent, but Katniss knows _exactly_ what Effie means. Finnick's words ring out in her mind. _President Snow . . . sells the victors. _It occurs to her as strange that Effie of all people knows about the sexual slavery and contacted her about it, but she goes numb from the shock, and without another thought releases the phone receiver, which goes crashing to the floor. Katniss is trembling all over, with only one word echoing in her head, _no. No. No. _How can this be happening to her? Her movements become sluggish, time slows down. Her heart beats so fast she's sure it's going to fall out of her chest — then she just crumples to the floor and remains there, the roar of her blood in her ears deafening her.

She stays there for a very long time, lost once more in the world with no idea what to do.

The phone rings for the second time about an hour later, and she's still shivering on the floor next to it, unsure of how to react. When it rings she cries out and flinches back, before regarding it cautiously, almost as if it's a wild animal about to attack her. _Ring. Ring. _It continues shrilling into the empty silence, and finally she reaches for it, pressing the button almost numbly.

And the voice she hears is the only one in the world she wants to hear right now.

* * *

"Everything's going to be alright."

* * *

Johanna materialises in her doorway barely an hour later, and wordlessly crosses over to her bed and crushes her in a hug. "Don't worry about it," she tells Katniss, as the latter begins to sob unashamedly into her shoulder. "Everything's going to be fine." And Katniss thinks of sea-green eyes and mussed bronze hair and a voice dripping with sincerity that says, _everything's going to be alright._

And she thinks, _yes, everything will be alright._

* * *

-;-

* * *

"Fancy that, Miss Everdeen speechless," mocks President Snow with a wry smile on his lips. "Seems like I've hit one of your weaknesses, doesn't it?" he idly runs his eyes over her room. "Who'd have guessed, Mister Finnick Odair and Miss Katniss Everdeen. How wonderful." He turns back to face her with his eyes piercing. "But I am not amused."

"Mister Finnick Odair has been neglecting his . . . _duties _because of you, Miss Everdeen," Snow says. "His clients grow weary. _I_ grow tired of such nonsense. And thus I've decided that it's time to step in." He laces his fingers together and regards her dryly. "There is, however, an alternative." And even though Katniss knows that she _will _take this alternative — anything to stay with Finnick, anything — she can't help but feel that it's something dreadful.

And when President Snow starts to speak, her worst fears are confirmed.

* * *

"You alright, sweetheart?"

She looks up to find Haymitch lumbering into the living area with a bottle in hand, and grips her porcelain mug so tightly that her knuckles go white. His eyes widen and he lifts his eyebrows expressively at the sight of her red-rimmed eyes.

"What happened?"

And in the next instant, everything just comes pouring out and she feels so _dreadful,_ but she can't go to anyone else about it. Haymitch's expression softens and in an uncharacteristic gesture, he puts his arm around her as she rambles on and on. As she speaks tears course down her cheeks, and when she finally chokes on them, instead of going on, she just breaks down sobbing.

Haymitch's embrace is warm and comforting and at the end of it, he smoothes her hair back from her forehead and tells her to calm down. She snivels a little, reaching for one of the tissue boxes on the coffee table and taking a grateful sip of her milk, which, though no longer piping hot, is still lukewarm, and spreads through her like wildfire, effectively calming her.

"Sweetheart," says Haymitch gruffly, and she looks up at him. "If you had a chance, would you change your future?"

"What do you mean?" Katniss' brow furrows and she sips at her milk, shivering.

"I mean," Haymitch repeats, "if you could change the way things are, would you? And I'm not talking about just the sexual slavery, or the Hunger Games. This is something bigger. If you could change the way Panem is, would you?"

"Why are you asking me this?" she says with a hint of panic entering her voice; surely President Snow can hear every word that they're saying. _He has eyes and ears everywhere,_ she tells herself. "Haymitch, you shouldn't be talking about things like this." At her words, he gives a derisive laugh, all traces of his previously fatherly demeanor vanished.

"So _that's_ what you're worried about? Believe me, Beetee will be more than willing to entertain the Capitol's bugs and spy cameras with simulated images and falsified conversations," he says with a snort. Katniss' eyes widen; she'd never thought that the quiet, solemn man from District Three would be capable of such a thing. "Life is all about getting to know _the right people,_ sweetheart."

"What are you implying?" she inquires sharply, stiffening. "Do you think I've been getting to know the _wrong_ people?"

"We've been making sure that it's the other way around," he tells her, tucking his arms behind his head and propping his legs up on the coffee table, making it tremble and her milk mug to clatter slightly against the glass surface. Her eyes narrow; her brow furrows. "I don't understand you. Who's we?"

"Think about my question, sweetheart." Haymitch lifts his bottle of liquor off the table and brings it to his mouth, swigging it. Katniss watches but does not see, and he wipes a dribble of alcohol off his chin before returning his gaze to her. "Now that you've thought about it, who do you think we are?"

"Why is _everybody_ so cryptic?" she demands of no one in particular. "Why can't you all just get to the point?" But even as she says this, she ponders — wonders about possible hidden meanings amongst his words. _If you could change the way Panem is, would you?_ Why did she initially panic? Is it because she understood that that kind of thing was forbidden; or was it because she'd become overly paranoid? _But why would it be forbidden_? She thinks involuntarily.

Her mind instantly flashes to the newspaper clipping she'd read on the train, the one mentioning that there'd been riots of a sort in District Three, followed by the newscaster's brief story on demonstrations in District Eight. The exact same story, with one word changed. _Why_? _Why would they do something like that? _It can't have been a mistake, it can't, she tells herself. _But then — what?_

And it all comes back to _changing Panem_ again. How can somebody _change_ Panem? Who'd be able to do that, apart from the Capitol? And Beetee — what did Haymitch say again? _Simulated images and falsified conversations. _That has to have some weight — why the secrecy? And how is Beetee involved in this? It seems like a great ploy to confuse her, in her opinion.

Then it strikes her. _The Dark Days. District Thirteen. The rebels. _She turns to face Haymitch with wide eyes, as if seeing him in a new light. "You — I —" is all she gets out. Her eyes drop to the golden pin attached to the lapel of her jacket. "How could you—? I can't — what — how —" she seems incapable of stringing a full sentence together, so Haymitch just sighs.

"Sweetheart," he repeats, "If you could change the way Panem is, would you?"

This time she is determined to get it right. "Yes," she says, sticking her chin in the air. "Yes, I would."

* * *

-;-

* * *

"Aren't you excited? I'm excited for you! Mister Crane is one of the richest in the country, there are rumors that he's made a booking at _la chez_! The cuisine there is _absolutely_ splendid, I can't wait for you to . . . " Effie rambles on and on, seated opposite her in the cabin, and all Katniss can think is, _poor Effie. She really thinks that he just wants my 'company' for one night._

But Katniss knows better — she knows what President Snow does to Finnick, to all the victors, and she knows what happens to those who refuse. Johanna's face pops into her mind once more; _what about your family and friends? Don't have any family and friends. _There are dire consequences for this who do not comply with the Capitol's wishes, she thinks bitterly, and tries to block all thoughts of what's happening later from her mind. She will _not _think about it.

"Effie," she says, interrupting Effie mid-rant about the difference between ravioli cooked in a sandalwood oven and pan-seared ravioli. Effie pauses, half-annoyed, half-confused.

"Yes, Katniss-dear?"

"Is there a phone on the train?" Katniss forces a gleaming smile.

"Why of course, it's in the next cabin."

"I need to use it."

"Then go ahead, darling," Effie says, though she's obviously irritated by the fact that Katniss isn't going to stay for the rest of her 'explanation'. "But don't be too long, dear, I've yet to give you my list of recommendations for dishes to order at _la chez_!"

"Of course," says Katniss, successfully keeping her smile on her face. "I'll be right back." She stands, pushing her chair back from the table and scraping against the wooden floor — "that is _mahogany_, dear" — before all but running from the cabin. She slips into the next one unnoticed by any of the attendants and locates the phone on her own — before lifting the receiver and dialing a number she'd long since memorized.

"Katniss, is that you?"

"Finnick," she says, and at the sound of his voice, all the tension from her body relaxes, and she feels oddly calm.

"I'm so glad you called; I'm on my way to the Capitol."

"Finnick, I'm scared," she confides, and her voice trembles and breaks on the last word. He's silent for a split-second, pausing, before he goes on to say, "don't worry, I'll be there for you."

"But you can't stop it from happening," Katniss manages in a tremulous voice, tears springing to her eyes. She's tired of keeping up the cheerful and overjoyed façade in front of Effie, who's oblivious to the truth behind the appointment. "I don't — I don't want to do this, Finnick." She closes her eyes in an attempt to stop the tears from falling, but one slides through her lashes and slips down her cheek. "But I have to — otherwise they'll kill Prim."

"Katniss," he says, and his voice is tight, pained.

"I have to go," she says immediately, and hangs up without another word. She slides down against the wall and curls up in a ball at its base, feeling unbelievably weak and helpless. _Why did I call him_? she wonders to herself. _Probably to just get all of that out, because I can't talk to anyone else. _In an attempt to calm down, Katniss takes a deep, shuddering breath, presses her lips together and wipes her face dry on her sleeve. Then she forces a smile and stands up, heading back into the train cabin.

* * *

The pale pink pills look harmless, resting in her sweaty palm. _It makes everything better, _Cashmere had said. _Good luck._ Then she'd breezed away with a swing of her hips. Katniss regards the two tablets a little cautiously, tipping them into her other hand. _Should I? _She'd originally been surprised when the District One victor had approached her upon her arrival in the Capitol, and handed her the tiny bag. _She knows what it's like. She's just trying to help._

Sitting alone in the middle of a hotel room, Katniss feels helpless and hopeless. A few minutes ago, she'd been shoved here and handed a lacy number to wear, which is horribly revealing and makes her feel bare and exposed. She shivers now as a draft floats through the room, descending on her and causing her arms to prickle with goosebumps.

She continues staring at the pills. _Should I . . . or should I not? _Cashmere didn't seem like she had any ulterior motives. Katniss' fingers clench into fists. _I have to. It's this or nothing. _She lifts her chin to the ceiling, pinches her nose, and promptly drops the two pills into her mouth, forcing herself to swallow.

For a few minutes, nothing happens.

Then it's like a gale wave of force hits her mind; she abruptly feels dizzy and the room around her starts spinning. Her mind struggles to form a coherent thought. _Is this . . . normal?_ She presses one hand to her temple, but that does little to soothe the blossoming headache that spreads like wildfire. She groans and doubles over; her head feels like it's splitting apart — and in that moment, the door creaks open, and Seneca Crane steps in.

"Miss Everdeen," he begins, but she only lets out a moan; he merely observes her. "They told me you would resist," he says quietly. "I see the medicine has already begun to set in."

_What do you mean? _she tries to ask, but nothing save a grunt escapes her lips. It all comes rushing to her — Cashmere hadn't intended to help. She was on orders to deliver the pills to her — orders from Crane himself. _Oh no. _She can't believe that she's been tricked — _oh no, no, no. I can't let this happen to me_!

He moves over to her; rests a hand on her arm. _Help!_ Katniss tries to scream. _This man is going to rape me_! She attempts to struggle as his hands wander downwards, but her attempts to resist are feeble at best. Black spots cloud her vision; she can feel her grip on reality starting to waver. "That's it," he murmurs as she starts to sink into unconsciousness, and that's the last thing she hears before her world fades to darkness.

* * *

-;-

* * *

The next time she sees Finnick is at lunch; she's to have lunch with all the other victors in the same cafeteria as their tributes. All of the victors laugh and joke and pretend to be friends — but the façade is so thin it's strained, and Katniss can see some of their masks starting to crack. Because beneath all of that is fierce competition — the undying need to prove themselves better than the other. Katniss is the worst at socializing — she never talks or smiles, merely offers a half-hearted chuckle at somebody else's joke, or a tiny nod. In all honesty, she envies Haymitch. All he has to do is sit in a corner and drink — no one expects _him_ to join in the conversation.

She needs to speak to Finnick privately, but whenever she approaches him he's always accosted — more than often by the other female victors, and the sight of them draping themselves all over him sickens her. Finally she gives up and heads over to the glass panel separating them from the tributes in training, her eyes following Madge as she sifts through the trays of plants at the survival station. A tap on the shoulder startles her; whirling around she sees it's Finnick, and relief courses through her as she thinks, _finally._

"Hey." His voice is measured, the first indication that Haymitch has already told him _something. _The second sign is when he places his hands on her shoulders and scans her face cautiously. "You alright?"

She shrugs in response. "Good enough. I could use some air, though."

He picks up on her hint quickly. "Why don't we head up to the roof? It's quite windy up there — it can get quite noisy, though." _Then no one will hear us._ Katniss nods wordlessly, and they head towards the lift. During the ride up, they are silent, and it's the most awkward she has ever felt around Finnick — but now that a secret weighs down so heavily on her, it's quite hard for her to make small talk. Just when they're ascending past the twelfth floor she considers clearing her throat to break the silence — but at that moment, with a soft _ding_, the doors part.

Katniss can barely hold the words in as they exit the lift and amble over to the edge of the roof — as Finnick leans over the edge of the railing, she takes a deep breath to calm herself down, then turns to face him. "How long have you known?"

"Mm?" he gives her a sideways glance, slightly confused by the question. "What do you mean?"

She lowers her voice. "You know what I mean." Finnick raises his eyebrows, encouraging her to go on, and with a sigh she complies. "The rebellion. District Thirteen. Don't think I'm an idiot, I know that you know about it."

His eyes widen. "Who told you about it?"

"Haymitch," she answers simply. As he opens his mouth to speak, she shoots back, "and I know you know why."

They lapse once more into tense silence, regarding each other seriously. Finnick's sea-green eyes seem to bore into hers, and after about ten minutes he lets out a ragged breath and tears his gaze from hers, turning around to pace the length of the roof. When he swivels around to face her, he says, "I can't protect you again this time."

"I know, and I wouldn't let you even if you could," Katniss replies. He gives another sigh and continues pacing. "Katniss . . . I really don't know what I'm going to do. To even _think_ about that happening to you —" he breaks off, unable to continue, and lifts his palms to his temples. "Ugh!" She merely watches him, unsure of how to react. "When it was just me it was fine." Finnick says. "But now . . . " he falters.

"I'm twenty, Finnick," she says in a slightly shaky voice. "I can take care of myself."

"This isn't about you, dammit!" he snaps; she moves slightly back, taken by surprise. He rounds on her now, and his eyes are blazing with fury and tight with pain. "I know that you're going to put up a tough front as you always do, because you always don't want me to worry. But how can I not worry? I haven't forgotten, you know," he adds, getting worked up now, "how it felt like to walk into that room two years ago and see that man on top of you." He's unable to look at her now, and rests his forehead against the metal railing.

At these words, Katniss shivers, slightly, and she's pretty certain it isn't because of the wind. "Finnick," she says softly, placing a hand on his shoulder; he lets out a groan in response. "Finnick," she tries again, and this time he looks up at her with red-rimmed eyes. "Oh, Finnick," she breathes, and moves forward into his embrace, wrapping her arms tightly around him. "Finnick, I love you," she says, "but you can't protect me forever."

At first, he's unmoving, as unbending as stiff cardboard, but after a while, he hugs her back, tightly. "I know," he sighs, "but I wish I could."

* * *

Afterwards, when Finnick drops her off at level twelve, he tells her to get some rest and to take care of herself with a sad smile. After promising him to do both, he leaves with a jaunty wave, some of his old confident air coming back. It's times like these that she knows he really loves her, because she's _pretty_ sure that she's the only one who gets to see the broken, vulnerable Finnick without his cocky airs and charming smiles.

She returns to her room, but on pushing open the door, she's hit by a wave of sickly scent — her eyes immediately locate the source to be the vase of roses on the dresser. Instantly her mind replays the day's earlier incident and President Snow's visit, and she doesn't really feel like sleeping anymore. After throwing out the roses she heads to the living room, where she sinks into the couch and tries to think of something to do. Reaching for the television remote, she switches the set on and finds that they're playing the reruns of some old Games — not a very pleasing sight, but there's a brief flash of a familiar face onscreen.

_Johanna!_ Katniss didn't see Johanna at lunch earlier or any other part of the day, but she's certain that her friend is here in the Capitol, mentoring for that year's Games, because she's the only alive female victor of District Seven and it would be a requirement for her. Almost involuntarily she finds herself making her way to the lift, her finger stabbing the button '7'.

There's a smile on Katniss' lips as the lift doors close.

* * *

-;-

* * *

"I'm disappointed in you."

Katniss looks up to face Johanna, who's glowering at her furiously. She lowers her gaze immediately and pulls the blanket around her tighter — even though they're back in District Twelve, the memory is fresh in her mind and she's freezing all over, from fear and from the cold. _I'd have thought she'd be comforting me, what is up with her today —?_

"How could you just let Finnick do that for you?"

"What?" Now she's genuinely surprised, but if possible, Johanna seems to get even angrier.

"You know what I mean! Instead of dealing with it _yourself,_ you get him to pay for your actions? Katniss Everdeen, have you no pride? Have you no conscience? How could you let him _do that_? What kind of person are you, huh?" Johanna's voice rises in pitch as she speaks. "You're a _coward,_ Katniss Everdeen."

"What about you?" the words slip out before she can stop them, and more harshly than she intended for them to sound. "What about _you_, Johanna Mason? _You _let your family and friends die because of you. At least I tried to stop that from happening." With every word that escapes her lips, Johanna seems to flinch, as if every one of them is a stinging slap to the face. "How can you call me a coward when you let all of that happen?" she finishes rather half-heartedly.

Johanna turns away from her and stares at the ceiling for about a minute or two. When she looks back at Katniss, there are tears glimmering in her eyes, and Katniss feels the guilt set in. "That was uncalled for," Johanna says in a shaky voice. "Completely uncalled for."

"Jo, I —"

She turns and flees from the room before Katniss can complete her statement, pressing the back of her hand to her eyes. In all her years living with Johanna, she's never once seen her cry, and she's overcome with an immense guilt that she can't even begin to describe. She just wishes she could take all her words back — but it's too late. They've been spoken, and she'll never be able to forget them.

* * *

**A/N** — this is a relatively short chapter too, but I really wanted to post this quickly :3 for those who are still confused as to what went on in that hotel room, I'll be explaining it in the next chapter; which is also another reason why I think the rating should be upped (: if anyone thinks so too, just tell me and I'll do it right away.

many said they were disappointed at the lack of finnick/katniss interaction in the last chapter, so I hope this makes up for it! (:

thanks for reading, and please do _not_ favourite or alert without reviewing! (seriously, do review, please? :3 reviews make the updates come faster! — or something like that, aha)


	4. IV

**a/n** — gosh this chapter nearly killed me, i swear, omfg. sorry for the length and the wait, i suck, yes, i know. anyway; i'm working on _falling skies_ as a side project, so if any of you could go check that out, i would appreciate it lots. c: it involves Katniss/Peeta and the first ever annual Hunger Games, and it's everlark because i couldn't fit Finnick/Katniss into it. (which is the saddest thing ever, sobs _but_ it does have some odesta/fannie in it, for those who ship the two :3 but if you did you probably wouldn't be reading this right ehehe lalala)

ANYWAY  
hope you like this chapter, and please do review!

_trigger warnings: mentions of attempted rape and forced sexual slavery. _(in accordance with the advice of a lovely reviewer, **catie8**, i'm not changing the rating just yet, but if anyone feels that i should, don't hesitate to tell me!)

this chapter is dedicated to the beautiful **Clara Meliza**, because her reviews never fail to light up my day (: this is also dedicated to Jerie even though she doesn't read this, hoho, because she's amazing and gorgeous and asdfghjkl i love her so much okay.

* * *

**IV.**

* * *

**三个和尚没水喝。**

* * *

_I walked across an empty land  
I knew the pathway like the back of my hand  
I felt the earth beneath my feet  
sat by the river and it made me complete_

* * *

Standing outside Johanna's bedroom door, Katniss feels like the weight of the sky has suddenly cascaded onto her shoulders, and she almost decides not to knock on the door, to leave the apologizing for another night.

"_How can you call me a coward when you let all of that happen?" _ Her own words suddenly ring out in her head, and Katniss winces in response, remembering how cutting they were, and recalling the mixture of hurt and shock on Johanna's face, followed almost instantly by glittering tears in her eyes.

"_That was completely uncalled for."_

It was, Katniss agrees, but apologizing is one of the hardest things she's ever had to do. Even harder than having to part with Peeta Mellark's lifeless body during the Hunger Games. She stares down at the cup of cocoa in her hand and takes a sip in an attempt to calm her nerves, but grimaces; it tastes terrible, far worse than anything Johanna would have made.

_You have to make things right, Katniss,_ she reminds herself firmly. _Don't just ignore it and let it pass. Two wrongs don't make a right._ And, with that thought, she reaches up and raps smartly on the door. The knocks sound like gunshots, and they echo into the empty silence, reverberating around her. For a minute, there is nothing but the weight of the silence crushing down on her.

Then the doorknob moves; the door eases itself open just a crack. Johanna's face appears in the gap, her eyes red-rimmed and her face pale, but she doesn't look angry. Neither does she sound angry when she asks — not aggressively — "what do you want, Katniss?"

"I — I —" Katniss has never been good with words, and now, when she needs them, she finds that they slip right out of her grasp, even though she's been rehearsing what to say for the past ten minutes in her head. "I — I wanted to say sorry," she finally gets out, lowering her eyes to the floor. Johanna doesn't stir, so she goes on. "I shouldn't have said what I said. I know it wasn't your fault. I —" once more, she finds herself at a loss for words. "I'm just sorry!" she blurts, and inclines her head.

There's a tense pause of silence in which Johanna considers her response and in which Katniss wishes she could melt into the floorboards and stay there for the rest of her life. _The only thing I would miss about this life is Johanna's cocoa,_ she thinks, and has to hold in a snort. Finally Johanna says, "It's okay. It _was_ my fault, in a way, and don't try to tell me otherwise."

"But I still shouldn't have —"

"Forget it, okay?" Johanna says softly, and Katniss looks up into her eyes, brown and baleful. Johanna sniffs and opens the door wider, wiping her eyes on her sleeve. "Anyway, I'm being ridiculous with all this crying. How about we go get some cocoa?"

Katniss holds out her cup. "I tried making some, but it's really terrible."

Johanna glances at her warily, then takes the cup from her, tilting it and peering at the brown liquid sloshing inside the mug. "Hmm." She sniffs it, then glares suspiciously at it before lowering it from her nose. "Well, naturally this cocoa would taste terrible, seeing as it _isn't_ cocoa." Katniss starts, and Johanna manages a small smile. "This is _coffee,_ Katniss."

_Oh._ Katniss stares at the fluid and starts gagging, though most of it is just for show. Surely enough, Johanna gives a shaky laugh, and seconds later Katniss feels a hand on her spine. "Come on. Let's go." She straightens, and without another word, tackles Johanna in a hug. It's a few moments before Johanna responds to the embrace, but Katniss doesn't mind. It's the thought that she can hug Johanna again that makes her happy.

* * *

-;-

* * *

"How've you been?"

"Oh, you know," says Johanna, gesturing at the air aimlessly with her free hand, "fine." They're sitting in the living room of the District Seven apartment, sipping from mugs of warm milk, staring at the screen but not quite registering the flashing images as a low hum issues from the speakers surrounding them. Caesar Flickerman is onscreen with Claudius Templesmith, and the two of them are discussing previous Hunger Games while highlights from the Games play in the background. Katniss stares down into her mug, curling her fingers around its warmth.

"How are your tributes?" Katniss can't help but feel that Johanna hasn't quite forgiven her for moving to District Four with Finnick. While she'd supported Katniss' decision at the time, even egging her on to do it when she was doubtful, moving meant that Johanna would be forced to return to District Seven and live alone. Katniss had suggested to Finnick that Johanna come live with them, but Johanna had refused, saying that she didn't want to intrude on their little love nest and feel like a third wheel all the time. So really, it was her own making that had her living on her own, but even though she claimed she preferred it so, Katniss knew that she was lonely.

"They're okay — good, I guess." Johanna's brow furrows, and she lifts the mug to her lips for a long drink. When she lowers it, her upper lip is covered in a halo of white, and she wipes it away on her sleeve. "Not much personality, you know, but nevertheless fine."

Katniss smiles and thinks privately to herself that Johanna and Finnick are very much alike, despite how much they'd deny it. The two of them are friends, though not as close as Katniss is to either, and sometimes she wonders that, if she hadn't been around, would Johanna and Finnick have gotten together? They get along vaguely well, they think in the same way, and they have the same views on most subjects. "That's good to hear. Why aren't you down with the rest of the mentors, passing snide remarks and putting down others' tributes?"

"Why aren't _you_?" Johanna counters, raising an eyebrow. "Isn't Finnick down there? You should spend more time with him, you know, especially after your sister and your cousin." She says the word 'cousin' like it's a required line she's supposed to deliver, though she doesn't quite believe it. Johanna is one of the few people outside of District Twelve that knows the truth behind the Hawthornes, and how they were made Katniss' cousins just to fit the star-crossed lovers façade. Katniss shakes her head slightly, attempting to rid the image of Peeta Mellark's mangled body from her mind before she responds.

"You know that's not my style, and anyway, I've been 'ordered' to get some sleep." Katniss's smile drops immediately from her lips when she recalls President Snow's earlier visit to her quarters, and presses two fingers to her closed lids, as if warding off a bright light or the like. She reaches for a down comforter next to her on the couch as she speaks. "Johanna, can I tell you something?"

"Sure, anything," Johanna says, but Katniss' eyes slide to the corners of the room, where she's sure several bugs and cameras reside. Johanna follows her gaze, then gives a soft _oh_ to show that she understands, before leaning over to reach for the phone on the desk beside the couch. She picks it up and dials a few numbers, before pressing it to her ear. "Beetee, I need a few minutes," she says to the person on the other end, whom Katniss assumes is Beetee, mentor from District Three. _ Beetee will be more than willing to entertain the Capitol's bugs and spy cameras with simulated images and falsified conversations_, Haymitch had said. She presumes that that is what Johanna is looking for right now._  
_

"Are you part of it?"

"Of what?" Johanna presses her fingers together and lowers her eyes, indicating that she knows exactly what Katniss is talking about. Katniss thrusts her chin into the air determinedly before going on.

"The rebellion." She hadn't been sure _exactly_ what _they_ were before, not even when she was talking to Finnick, but the moment the words leave her mouth she knows that she's right. _The rebellion._ She thinks of a group of mentors, Capitolites and members of the Districts alike, working together to bring President Snow and the government down, and nods, assured. She's chosen her words correctly._  
_

Johanna shrugs. "In a loose definition of the word, yes."

Katniss' brow furrows. "I don't quite understand."

"Do any of us?" Johanna inquires dryly with a snort, and she shakes her head. "They help me, I help them. It's a two-way thing. They help me get the freedom and the privacy I want, and in return, I give them the information they want." She takes another sip from her cup. "I can't say that I'm part of them, though, because that's part of the deal. I don't get pinned down to whatever they want me to do." Flashing her milk-stained teeth at Katniss, she adds, "It's a good deal with my own terms."

"But _why_?" Katniss asks. "_Why_ wouldn't you want to commit to them, Jo?"

"Because I can't commit to anything," Johanna snaps back, furious. Her eyes are suddenly blazing. "If you get attached to something, it'll just blow up in your face, and then the Capitol will be the one getting the last laugh. It's like that with everything." Katniss thinks of Johanna, all alone in the world, and bites down on her lip, hard.

"Anyway," Johanna continues, composed once more, "it's not like the Capitol can hurt me anymore. I don't have anything more to lose. There's no one left that I love." She looks away from Katniss, out the window and at the rest of the Capitol, with its elaborate towers and lavish decorations, spreading out as far as the eye can see. She sounds bitter and jaded, like someone who has seen the worst of the world and none of its good; and Katniss knows that no matter what she says, she's never going to make Johanna see.

* * *

-;-

* * *

After the initial blackout, she seems to be in a half-drunken stupor, conscious as to what's going on in the world around her but unable to stop any of it. It's particularly painful this way because she can _feel_ as Crane's fingers dart across the blades of her shoulders, slipping the straps of her camisole off them and down to her arms. Her shirt pools around her waist, and she strikes out — feebly — but it doesn't seem to be doing any damage. Then she feels his lips _everywhere,_ trailing down her jaw and onto the hollow of her throat, and once more she tries to defend herself, but it has absolutely no effect.

His hands dart up her inner thigh, and she attempts to squirm out of his grasp, but he's too heavy and his grip too firm. With a haunted kind of horror she realizes that she's probably going to be conscious throughout the entire course of time and he's going to _rape_ her but she won't be able to stop it. _Please,_ she tries to say, but the only sound she makes is a faint gurgling, which is indecipherable and of course, incomprehensible.

Then his fingers touch her _there_ and she tries to scream — which comes out soft and muffled, almost as if she were gasping. _No, no, no _— she's half-bare now, and he seems to be _enjoying it, _enjoying the fact that she's helpless and immobile and subject to his tortures as he gropes her and forces himself on her. She has never felt more vulnerable or more despaired, and she _hates_ this feeling.

All of a sudden someone's pulling him off her, and weakly she tries to cover herself up. Her head is pounding and spinning at the same time, and drowsily she takes note that Seneca Crane is lying on the ground, a hand pressed to his cheek, staring in shock at her mysterious savior. She doesn't even need to know who it is before he gathers her into his arms; she inhales his familiar scent of mint and the sea and registers a faint bobbing that means he's carrying her. _Finnick,_ she wants to say, and she reaches for his face, but before she can touch his cheek, her hand drops limply to her side, and the darkness swallows her once more.

* * *

"Finnick," is the first thing she says, when she comes to. Her vision is blurred, and she can barely see a thing in the dim light, but all she wants is him. "Finnick, where are you —?" Her arms reach out, groping at the thin air, but they come back to her empty.

"Shh," he says in response, and his fingers press down on her arms, gently pushing them back to her sides. A second later she feels his hand on her brow, brushing stray strands of her hair back from her eyes and off her forehead. "Be quiet and rest. You need the sleep." She stirs feebly, resisting, and shakes her head almost frantically, though her movements are sluggish and _unreal._

"Finnick —"

"You're tired and traumatised, I get it." He resumes his stroking of her hair, combing it out onto the sheets behind her. "Go to sleep, Katniss, we'll talk in the morning." _No, no, no, _she tries to say, but all that comes out of her mouth is, "Finnick . . . what happened?"

He stiffens for a moment. "I — I walked in on you with Crane." He sounds tired, weary. "I don't think he's forgiven me, but I've spoken to the president. He'll let me off so long I — so long I serve extra customers this month." Finnick forces the words out as if he's choking on them, as if they're stuck in his throat like congealing glue. "It's a small price to pay, so long you're safe."

She's desperate now, her eyes wide as she reaches for his silhouette above her, her arms looping around his neck and pulling herself closer to him. "No, I can't let you do that, Finnick." Her fingers curl into his shirt, knotting into the fabric, and his own arms go around her, embracing her tightly and enveloping her in his warmth. "I have to, Katniss."

"Please, Finnick, _please__,_" she begs. She can't tell, what with the lighting and all, but she thinks they're in his apartment in the Capitol. She clings to him frantically, clutching him as if someone's trying to take him away from her. "You can't leave me." She tightens her grip on him, her bony arms encircling his broad shoulders. "Not ever. _Please_, Finnick."

He squeezes her back. "Never," he whispers, and they remain like that for a long time, embracing in the dark, neither of them willing to let go.

* * *

The box of tapes is still in her living room when she returns home. Johanna is still unwilling to even go _near_ it, but Katniss is fascinated — fascinated by the prospect of finally knowing what's real, and what's not. She's never needed to know this as badly as she does now — she's still confused as to whether everything was a bad dream, and whether the victors of the Hunger Games really live in the paradise that everyone thinks they do.

It remains there, neglected, week after week after week, until one day her curiosity gets the better of her, and she approaches it slowly, filled with an unknown trepidation that she cannot explain away. Despite her promises to Johanna and the latter's warnings, she can't help but feel that she has a _right_ to know — and that's something Johanna can't take away from her.

Her fingers gingerly lift the cardboard flap, revealing row after row of organized black tapes, each one labelled neatly with either "Katniss" or "Johanna", followed by a number. There's a creak from upstairs and Katniss leaps backwards as if scalded, until Katniss reminds herself that it's late and Johanna is most likely asleep, and isn't around to stop her from doing what she wants. With that thought in mind, she once more moves towards the boxes and lifts the flap, folding it over onto the back of the box. She swallows at the sight of the tapes, but steels herself and reaches for the first tape, marked "Katniss — 1".

She lifts it from the box and holds it up to the light, tilting it and observing it from every angle. _So this is the tape that holds all the answers,_ she thinks. _But am I willing to relive it?_ Almost instantly she finds herself back in the arena with Peeta Mellark's blood smeared across her palms. She shakes her head. ___My name is Katniss Everdeen, I am twenty years old, and I am . . . No, Katniss, stop being such a weakling. _She grits her teeth and stands up, moving towards the cassette player. Slowly, purposefully, she slots the tape in.

The screen flickers to life.

* * *

-;-

* * *

There are numbers on the gigantic screen facing them in the City Centre, numbers that every sponsor, every better is watching eagerly. Katniss' eyes drift towards the two names at the end, with their tiny holographic faces beside them. _The odds are 60 — 1 on_ _Rory_, she thinks despairingly. _I'm going to have to work harder with him. _Then the numbers beside Madge's image suddenly flickers, and they morph into "15 — 1". _  
_

Katniss' fingernails dig into the armrests of her chair. _How's that possible? What did she do?_ She looks around the City Centre, at the rest of the mentors eagerly talking to sponsors, but nobody seems to have noticed. "Haymitch!" she whispers urgently to the halfway-unconscious drunk beside her; he lifts a lid and gives her a questioning glance. "Look!" she points at the screen, and he follows her finger. On noticing the numbers, he gives a snort, and then falls back into sleep.

She feels a hand on her elbow, and whirls around to face Finnick. A half-bewildered smile forms on her face at the sight of him, but his features are in an utterly solemn mask, staring at her with grim eyes. "This is very, very bad, Katniss."

Her brow furrows, and she stands. "I don't understand, Finnick," she says, leaning in close. Their conversation will be unheard to anyone but themselves, their whispers masked by the chatter and conversation drowning out all other voices in the City Circle. _Isn't this a good thing?_

_"_They're raising the odds on her so that the Careers will target her," he says, softly. "I heard Crane talking about it just now. They're raising the odds on her because of _us._" As he speaks, his fingers curl around hers, holding them tightly. Then his expression turns dark. "I won't let them hurt you, Katniss, not in a million years."

"I don't understand," she repeats. "I agreed to do what they wanted, why this now?"

"President Snow is reminding you what's at stake," he says, squeezing her hand and brushing her hair away from her temple. He presses a quick kiss to her forehead. "I can't — I don't —" for a second he seems unsure and confused, just like how anyone else in his position would be, but he regains his composure quickly. "Be strong, Katniss," he finally says, and then with another squeeze, he's gone.

* * *

When she returns to her apartment the phone rings, immediately, and without second thought she lifts the receiver and presses it to her ear, a queer expression coming over her face as the person on the other end speaks. "I understand," she says, and her face hardens. "When do I start?"

* * *

It's not as bad this time around, partly because it isn't her first time anymore, and partly because she can blank her mind out like she was unable to the previous time. She thinks of Prim's duck tail, of Gale's smile, of her mother's embrace, of Finnick's eyes. And she replays these images over and over in her mind as the man of top of her shifts his weight, grunting, and then finally stills.

When he's gone she curls up in her bed, and pulls the sheets around her bare body, cowering into a ball. She's never felt more violated or more used in her entire life, and the thing she hates most is that she can't do anything about it. She's the Capitol's puppet, through and through, and she can almost see President Snow standing above her, controlling her as she dangles on strings, moving her about to do his bidding. The man leaves her a handful of gold jewelry in the ashtray by the door. She doesn't even know his name.

There's a knock on the door, and without even calling out she knows it's Finnick, here with his impeccable timing and to offer her words of comfort. She doesn't respond, so he enters anyway, and spots her under the sheets, hugging her knees to her chest and trying to forget the fact that she's tainted now, integrated into the Capitol's sexual slavery. He places a hand on her bare back, and she flinches from his touch like he's the man who'd just groped her thoroughly, but he refuses to be discouraged and puts his arms around her. The feeling of his bare skin on hers is too much, and she shivers, burying her face between her knees. "Don't be afraid of me," he whispers, but she _can't help it,_ can't help the fact that she's terrified of what he might to do her, what _anyone _might do to her. And he knows it, that she's too far gone, but still he stays with her, true to his word.

"I'll never leave you," he says, and that is that.

* * *

-;-

* * *

_How can you love me, Finnick? _she asks him the next time she sees him. He moves towards her, startled, but she takes a step backwards, just out of his embrace. _How could you love me, even after what I've done to you?_

There's a pause. _You didn't do anything to me, _he says, _I did it to myself._ This time he places a hand on her cheek, and she doesn't move away. His blue-green eyes are earnest and true on hers, and still she doesn't believe him, staring at him with those searing grey eyes of hers, trying to decipher what he actually means. Now he presses a soft, chaste kiss to the corner of her mouth. _And I did it because I love you._

* * *

There are numbers on the giant screen behind the Cornucopia, numbers that silently count down the seconds to the start of the Games. Her heart is pounding, and she keeps her eyes on her own image onscreen, the tiny figure waiting for the gong to sound. _Three . . . two . . . one . . . _and then they're off, racing towards the giant horn for supplies. She vaguely recalls watching this a few years prior, seated by herself onstage with the crown upon her head, weighing down on her scalp like it's made of molten lead.

There's a shrill scream, and the camera pans in on Cato as he slashes across the District Three girl's face, sending her crashing to the ground with one swipe. Blood splatters across the dewy green grass, and Katniss bites her tongue. Even though she's been watching the Games all her life, she's never really gotten used to the sight of blood, and seeing it happen just reawakens memories within her that she's tried so hard to forget. _But that's the point, isn't it? I want to remember._

"Katniss?"

"Jo!" her fingers fumble with the television remote, clicking the 'off' button. The screen flashes blank in an instant, and her eyes are on Johanna's face, gauging her reaction. "I'm sorry — I mean, if I woke you up —"

"It's alright," Johanna says, tiredly. She sounds weary. "But if you want to watch that, take my advice and don't do it now." She turns around and heads back up the flight of stairs, off the landing and returning to her room. Still her words echo out behind her as she goes. "Or else you'll get nightmares, Katniss, and you don't want that."

There's the sound of a door shutting behind her, and Katniss exhales, sagging into the couch. Johanna doesn't think she's quite ready yet, obviously, and she's right. Closing her eyes, she lets out a sigh, before standing and placing the television remote back on the sofa. She'll think about it in the morning, when she's more awake and more mentally prepared.

* * *

-;-

* * *

She dissolves into tears in Johanna's arms, and Johanna hugs her back fiercely, most unlike her. "You'll never have to do that again," she says in a low tone, "I swear. You've sacrificed as much as everyone, Katniss. They shouldn't make you do any more than what you already have." _No, that's not right, Finnick's suffered more than I have,_ Katniss thinks, but she doesn't voice it aloud, just embraces her friend back.

"Johanna," she says quietly, after they've broken apart, "do you love me?"

Something like shock flits across Johanna's face, and she doesn't quite know how to react. "I — I — " she stammers, sounding much unlike her usual self. Then she closes her eyes and presses her fingers to her temples, unsure of how to respond. But Katniss just waits, staring at her and awaiting her answer. Finally she opens her eyes, and she says, "yes. Because you're all the family —"

She breaks off, unable to continue, but Katniss knows what she was about to say. _That I've got_, she completes in her mind, and smiles through her tears, because she knows that even this is a huge thing for Johanna to say, to admit that she cares for someone else now. "And now you have something to lose," she tells Johanna, "but you won't lose me." Then the two of them end up crying and hugging again, and even though neither of them are happy, there's something flickering inside of them._  
_

Hope.

* * *

"I'm not the Katniss I was before, Finnick," she confides shakily one night when they're curled up together in his bed, moonlight filtering through the window above them and casting pale shadows on his skin, making him look as though he's glowing. His arms tighten around her in response, and he nuzzles the back of her neck.

"It doesn't matter to me."

"But it matters to _me_," she answers, pulling away to look at him, wondering how he can just dismiss it so flippantly. "It matters, because I'm not the Katniss you fell in love with. I'm someone else." She looks down at her hands, as if trying to spot differences. "I'm someone that I _loathe_ now, and you should too." She moves to bury her face in her palms, but he takes his wrists in his hands, preventing her.

"You're someone who's sacrificed everything for the safety of your loved ones, Katniss," he says, quietly, and when she opens her mouth to protest he shushes her before going on. "And you sacrificed, this time, for _me._ Am I supposed to hate you for that? So now you're telling me that I should loathe you because you did something to ensure that we could stay together?"

She lets out a quiet sob, he feels the force of it rack her body and send vibrations through his. "Katniss," he says, more firmly now, "I'm not going to hate you just because you love me." He leans down and presses his lips to hers, giving her a soft, sweet kiss. "Now go to sleep," his voice is melodic and soft, lulling her to sleep. "You're going to need your strength tomorrow. It's the interviews, remember?"

"I remember," she murmurs drowsily, and leans back into his embrace. Surrounded by his warmth, she can forget about everything that ever happened to her — of course, it'll come back to her in the morning, but for now she can _pretend_ — pretend, that for once in her life, everything is alright, and there's no one in the world but him and her.

Just the way it should be.

* * *

**a/n — **okay this wasn't the way i wanted it to and halfway through i was all "omg why is this so corny?!111!" but i got over it and continued so tadaa, this is what you have. sorry for the corniness; and the weirdness of the johanna and katniss relationship, and the abrupt ending of katniss' movie marathon, but i decided that she (and i, of course) wasn't ready for that yet. also the finnick/katniss relationship is weeeird, and the rape scene was awks to write, but we made it! lalala so review for my efforts (and for yours, too, in getting through this horrendous thingamajig).

love to everyone for reading this!


	5. V

**a/n** — … it's been, what, three to four months? ^^" i apologise for the shockingly late update; but i abandoned FFN a while back and this is about the first time in months that i've actually sat down with the intent of writing fanfiction. of course, in my break from FFN i've completely forgotten the details of this entire story, an AU so warped that i'm going to have to reread it in order to remember.

still, thank-you to all reviewers who bothered to review in my absence! (: you guys are amazing, really. _also,_ i got an anonymous review telling me to take my story down because it was being reported? :/ i really don't know whether what i've written is offensive in any way, so if it is, could you please talk to me in person and explain why so i can change it? :D since there's been no action from the FFN admins regarding my story i've left it up, but really, if you have an issue with it, please _do_ tell me. (:

^ also not sure if this is a warning that i should change the rating or

this chapter is dedicated to **Diana** / **Pennilee**, my beautiful twinny.

* * *

**V.**

* * *

**水能****载****舟，亦能覆舟****。**

* * *

_the water sustains me without even trying  
the water can't drown me  
I'm done with my dying_

* * *

Finnick Odair doesn't know how he managed to stay sane.

In between the sexual slavery and the mentoring and the Games, he ought to have gone mad, much like the other victors, or at least turned to some kind of comfort. Meth, maybe. Alcohol, perhaps, then he could have been a drunkard like Haymitch.

He's seen the others struggling without their relief — and it pains him, especially knowing what they've gone through, particularly when it's Katniss. When he watches her writhing and crying out in her sleep he feels as though his heart is being ripped in two. His nightmares, on the other hand, are equally vivid, equally sensory — but his mind remains intact, and he stays sane.

The other victors put up all forms of tough fronts — they laugh about their Games, they shrug it off with a toss of their heads. But even those who ended up there voluntarily — Brutus and Enobaria, Gloss and Cashmere — he knows that they, too, are haunted by the ghosts of those they've killed. He sees Enobaria snorting lines, Cashmere taking pills, Brutus shoving hypodermic needles under his flesh, Gloss throwing back shots like drinking water — but in public they appear calm and collected and that's what counts. After all, who is he to deny them their pride?

But still, after seeing everyone suffer so, he has to wonder — how did he manage it? He's not the only one who's confused by this, though. When the other victors ask him, _how did you pull it off_? He says, _luck._ When the occasional pensive Capitolite asks him, _how did you manage to stay the same?_ He says, _with my immeasurable capability._ When Katniss asks him, _how can you be the same Finnick from before?_ He says, _because the old Finnick treasured some things too much to let them go._

Katniss knows what he means; she has a younger sister that she wanted to protect. It was the Capitol's fault that she ended up the way she was.

He wants to protect her from everything; he wants to protect her and love her the way he was unable to with Annie so many years ago. He doesn't want to make the same mistake twice, forsaking his chance when it came along only to mourn its passing.

Even though it seems almost implausible, Finnick Odair, too, has his regrets.

* * *

"You guys will be great," Finnick says with a wide smile at his two tributes, who look back at him expressionlessly and grunt. The girl's name is Scylla, and she's even more heavily built than the boy, whose name is Gaven. Both of them are Career tributes, having trained intensively for the Games since they were children.

"Thank you," Gaven says, his voice flat and emotionless. "Any last advice?"

"Be memorable," Finnick's fellow mentor, Coral, says with a false smile, pursing her blood-red lips as though to look seductive. "They'll _love_ you."

Scylla nods. She and Gaven share a poisonous glower, and at that moment the lift doors part, revealing their escort, who ushers them into the elevator hurriedly. The lift doors close behind them, and Finnick exhales, moving forwards to jab the button again.

"Oh, _Finnick_ …"

He looks back to see Coral, who has perched herself on a nearby table and crossed her legs so that her extremely short, extremely tight red dress rides upwards, barely concealing the crimson, lacy number she's wearing underneath. "Now that we're alone, how about you and I — ?" Her silence is suggestive enough, as is the action of her beckoning with a single red fingernail.

"Excuse me," Finnick says stiffly. "I'm going to visit an acquaintance." The lift arrives once more, and he steps forwards, jabbing the button '12' followed by 'close' without sparing a pouting Coral even a second glance. Sometimes, he doesn't understand Coral. Does she _enjoy_ it?

The lift doors slide open with a soft 'ding', leaving Finnick almost nose-to-nose with a surprised Effie Trinket, who jerks backwards. She's holding both tributes by their wrists in her pincer-like grasp, and while Rory is wincing and casting worried glances at his arm, Madge seems unaffected. They are both dressed in flames once more, Madge in a bright-red dress reminiscent of Coral's that glimmers as the fabric rumples, like she's being consumed in glittering tongues of flame. Rory is in a suit made of the same fabric, but he is less striking with his hunched pose and slight demeanour. Madge holds her head high, and seems arrogant, brave, and fearless — ever-so-much like pre-Games Katniss.

Finnick takes a step back as well, flashing his trademark smile at Effie. "Taking the children down, Effie?"

Effie blinks; almost as though blinded. "Y-yes." She lifts the arms of the tributes as though she needed to make it any more obvious; Rory cringes again.

Finnick almost pities the kid. "Well, good luck to both of you."

"Thank you," squeaks Rory, while Madge manages a confident, "thank you." Finnick pauses, once more he is taken aback by how much she's like how Katniss was — until the Hunger Games reduced her to a shivering, hallucinating shell. Recently she'd grown less dependent on him and more collected — and she'd always been a completely different person in the Capitol. Something about the place sobers all of them.

He manages a nod, and steps past her, onto the landing. Before the lift doors close he hesitates again and turns around, hoping to catch a last glimpse of her before she disappears entirely — something about her unnerves him. But the lift is long gone by then.

Finnick shakes his head; _what is wrong with me?_ He turns on his heel and heads down the hallway, towards Katniss' room.

Before he can reach it, a door next to him swings open, and Haymitch staggers out, drunk as usual. On seeing Finnick, all he says is, "she knows." Finnick nods again, and with a snort Haymitch straightens — or attempts to — and brushes off the lapels of his suit, before resuming his inebriated swagger down the corridor towards the lift.

Soon Finnick is standing before Katniss' room, feeling himself soften just by knowing that she's nearby. He leans forward and knocks, almost gingerly, on the polished wood. "Come in," her voice calls from inside, and he pushes the door open.

Katniss is seated on her bed, in a pale yellow dress that gives off the impression of glowing candlelight, with her hands clasped on her lap and her eyes staring forwards into empty space. Finnick hovers in the doorway, unsure of what to say. Her grey eyes drift across the room and finally settle on him, as though registering his presence. "Finnick."

"Katniss," he answers, his legs propelling him forwards as though they had a life of their own, seating himself next to her on the bed. He takes her hands in his, cupping them between his palms. Her fingers are icy cold, and she looks down at them in surprise, as if just realizing that they existed.

"It's the interviews," she says. "Real or not real?"

_She's relapsed_, he thinks instantly. She constantly has these periods of mental-uncertainty in between her saner moments, which usually only last for a day or two before her mind crumbles once more, affected by the poison in her body as well as the traumatic experiences she's had. "Real."

"My tributes are going to lose," Katniss counters. "Real or not real?"

"Not real. Katniss, you have to stop this." She can't lose herself now, not then, not at that moment when her tributes needed her. "You can't relapse now. Rory needs you. _Madge_ needs you."

"And it's going to be because of me. Real or not real?"

"Not real." He grips her hands so tightly his knuckles go white, but she doesn't seem to notice. "Please, Katniss. Think of Rory. Think of Madge. Think of _Prim._ She's counting on you to bring them back, so _please_, Katniss."

Something in her eyes flickers, and her willpower crumbles. She leans her head against his shoulder, and he lets her as she cries, as she releases all her frustration and her fear into her tears. "I can't let them lose," she says in between gasps.

Finnick nods. "And you won't."

It takes a while for her to calm down, but soon enough she's composed and ready to head down. Katniss stands, and the fabric of her dress ripples, giving off a gentle, subtle glow. He shakes his head in utter amazement. "Your designer is outstanding. This — and your tributes — and the opening ceremony —"

"Cinna," she says, and a small, almost incredulous smile spreads across her face. "He's something else. I can't tell you how lucky we are to have him. He designed me a mockingjay," she explains, as though that is supposed to make sense. Finnick nods anyway.

"Alright, it's almost time," Katniss adds with a glance at the clock on her dresser. "We have to go." She starts to move towards the door, but something glimmers in Finnick's peripheral vision.

There's a tinkling sound behind Katniss, and she starts to turn around, confused. "Finnick —?" But she feels his calloused hands on her bare shoulders, holding her where she is, and in the next moment, the cold metal of something descending onto her collarbone. She looks down and sees a gold mockingjay attached to a gold chain resting in the hollow of her throat, and swivels around — somewhere behind Finnick, the pile of gold jewellery in her ashtray has been rummaged through.

Her eyes return to him, even more confused now. In response, he taps two fingers under his chin. "Head high."

* * *

-;-

* * *

He's always been fascinated by Annie Cresta. She's a year under him in school, and everyone says she's mad. _Barking mad,_ his best friend Blake used to say. _She talks to herself all the time. Seems to think she can see things that aren't there. If I were you, I'd stay clear out of her way._

He hasn't told anyone, but he used to have a sister. A retarded, underdeveloped husk of a sister who shriveled away and died when she was seven. But he'd adored her, caring for her as though she was his child, always giving her the best portions of food and ensuring that she had enough to eat. If he wouldn't work for his parents, he'd work for Lethe. She was his oblivion. When she died he near went mad. His family fell apart, and he swore that her death would not be the end of him. He'd bring his family together again because that's what she would have wanted.

Annie Cresta reminds him of Lethe; the way she traces pictures and words onto the air and laughs to herself. Lethe is in her curly brown hair and pale skin and even in her laughter, the shrill giggles that escape her lips as she entertains herself. The only thing different about them is their eyes; Annie's are a clear blue while Lethe's had been more green. But every time Finnick looks at Annie, he sees Lethe.

He watches her at school; she keeps to herself and sits in a corner — or is it no one would sit or speak to her? — and mumbles to the walls as the other children frolick and play during their lunchtime. She always has her lunch packed from home in a paper bag; she's one of those families that always have enough to eat, with finery and wealthy to drape themselves in. _What a waste,_ Blake used to say. _What a waste that it would be wasted on Annie Cresta._

Finnick doesn't agree; he likes the way that Annie dresses — she always wears long-sleeved white dresses with grey or maroon tunics over it, the hems ending in artfully stitched ruffles at her wrists and her bony knees. Her shoes are always polished and shining, with large golden buckles that defines her as, _not one of us_. The only reason she goes to their school and not the expensive one in the city is because they wouldn't have her.

She isn't always talking to herself, though. There are times, Finnick notices, that she breaks away from her seeming stupors to observe the other children as they play, sometimes even standing up as though to join them. But before she can move towards them, she always sits back down, turns to the walls once more, and recommences her madness. He doesn't understand this; her behavior confuses him. Lethe never had sober periods; she was always lost to the world.

He wants to go up to her, to speak to her, but he's afraid of what the other children would see him as; but the opportunity presents itself when he loses a dare and has to go up to talk to Annie. The other children don't despise her; he realises in that moment. They're _afraid _of her. His palms tingling, he walks up to her. She's in her usual corner, mumbling as always. Taking a deep breath, he taps her on the shoulder.

Annie whirls around, her blue eyes narrowing. "What?" she asks, more aggressively than he would ever have pictured her capable of. He shies away from her, confused by her sudden anger. "Um, I was just —"

Then her expression softens. "Hello. Would you like to play with me and my friends?" Annie gestures towards the walls, and he takes another step back. "We're playing a game. It's really fun."

For the first time in his life, he is afraid. Afraid of Annie Cresta. "Um, it's okay —"

"Alright," she says, and Finnick is confused once more, before realizing that she's not even speaking to him, but to her imaginary friends. "Where were we? Have we reached the journey across the hills yet?"

Finnick takes another step back as she continues babbling, already unaware of his presence. Then he turns and runs.

* * *

He doesn't speak to Annie Cresta again after that incident, in which he determined that she was _really, really mad_ and not in the way that Lethe was perpetually dreamy, but in a way that she saw things they didn't and that frightened him. She remains at the back of his mind, and now he's become somewhat of a hero amongst the other children, having spoken to Annie Cresta and _survived._ He would usually feel bad about this, but he's kind of proud of himself, in a sick, twisted way.

Of course, everything changes when she's Reaped.

Something inside of him snaps when he sees her, shivering and pale, in all the glory of her miserable twelve years, standing there on the stage beside their district escort, not quite registering what's going on. Still there's a hint of fear in her eyes, and he _suspects_ — but of course that thought is crushed when a laugh bubbles through her lips. The entire district remains silent throughout the Reaping.

She just stands there, her gray tunic barely covering the ruffled hem of her white skirt, in turn barely covering her knobby knees, her clothes clinging to her fragile, slender form, her blue eyes wide, lips parted in a smile. She continues to smile as the boy is Reaped, and he's eighteen and a Career, towering over her and making her tininess even more pronounced.

He should have volunteered. Finnick knows that. He has regretted it for every waking moment of his life and continues to regret it; because only he could have taken care of her in the arena. Staring at her onstage, he just wants to take her in his arms, hold her, and protect her from the horrors to come. He wants to cradle her as he had his sister's corpse. He wants to coddle her as though she is a child, to ensure that she never has to suffer again.

But he can't and he never will.

* * *

She dies on her first day in the arena.

A District 1 boy beheads her with a cleaver a mere twenty seconds after the gong has sounded. Her death is unexpectedly wounding; it's as though he feels the blow too, because he spends the next minute clutching at his own throat with his parents' eyes on him. He thinks of Lethe, and how disappointed she would be that he hadn't protected Annie.

If any consolation, her death was quick. Possibly painless. Not that she would have felt it anyway.

* * *

-;-

* * *

Madge is beautiful, Katniss thinks to herself. The seventeen-year-old girl is beautiful in her own way, bold and brash, like Johanna, she thinks. The way she speaks, the way she moves, right down to her mannerisms, they're almost exactly like Johanna. In Johanna she finds strength, and in Madge she does too.

Of course, she's not one to speak, being an emotionally fragile, halfway-gone lunatic with no idea what's real and what's not. But with Johanna on one side and Finnick on her other, she feels stronger than she has ever felt before. Johanna's hand is on her knee, almost reassuring, and Finnick's fingers are woven through hers, concealed from the cameras, of course. She can feel the bodily heat and the strength they give her _radiating_ out from both of them, and she loves them both more than ever, in different ways.

Onstage, Madge speaks with Caesar Flickerman. By right Katniss should be feeling anxious, but the Madge onstage is a whole different Madge. She's good-humoured, charming, graceful, and strong, as opposed to the sulky, stubborn Madge Katniss has encountered.

"You shouldn't worry about her," Finnick murmurs, at the same time that Johanna says, "she's a natural." And Katniss basks in their warmth and their strength and agrees that yes, maybe Madge _does_ stand a chance.

But then Rory goes onstage, and Katniss' chest constricts — in the same moment that Finnick's grip on her fingers tightens, and the pressure from Johanna's palm grows greater. It's as though they're not even worried about their own tributes, just hers — but she knows that they're not even worried for her tributes, they're worried for _her._ Rory starts out tentatively, softly, but Caesar helps him along, chatting with him as though they're old acquaintances, and slowly Rory loosens up. Their conversation is mildly interesting, and anyone paying attention would remember who Rory is, but it isn't enough.

Finnick and Johanna escort her to her floor. Just as the lift is about to reach her apartment, the two of them exchange a look, and Johanna voices aloud, "you know, they can't both win." Finnick frowns at her words as though she's said something wrong, and Katniss can already see the unspoken argument that is surely oncoming. Johanna's words strike a dull blow in her heart, as though she's already been conscious of that fact since long ago.

Surely enough, even before the doors close she can hear Finnick's raised voice, speaking heatedly to Johanna, but she cannot decipher his words. Taking a deep breath, she braces herself, and then turns towards the living room.

Madge and Rory are both standing in the middle of the living room; Madge is pacing agitatedly. Haymitch is passed out on the sofa, while Effie is seated on the other end, saying something like, "the caviar at today's dinner was too salty!" very loudly. Cinna is partially blended into the background, leaning against a cement column with his gold-lined eyebrows raised ever-so-slightly.

The moment Katniss enters, Madge turns to her. "So?" she demands, as though awaiting a verdict on her performance. _Keep calm,_ Katniss reminds herself, but the words slip back into her head. _They can't both win. No. I must keep calm._

"You were good," she says honestly. "Memorable, even. Striking. That and your training score should get you a couple of sponsors."

"And me?" Rory asks in a small voice.

Katniss hesitates, and all of them see it. "You were sweet. But not something people would remember. I'm sorry, Rory." The words kill her, over and over and over again. _They can't both win._ And at this rate, it's looking as though out of the two, Madge is the more likely candidate to survive.

After she dismisses both of them and Effie excuses herself, she slumps next to the unconscious Haymitch on the couch, who reveals him to be not-so-unconscious when he says, out of the corner of his mouth, "what's bothering you, sweetheart?"

"They can't _both_ win, Haymitch," Katniss whispers. She buries her face in her hands. "But they both have to. Oh, I don't know. I owe Madge, and Rory — well, you know." _ They can't both win._ "But I promised Prim."

"And that, sweetheart, is where we come in," says Haymitch in his usual lazy drawl.

Katniss pauses. "What?"

"Oh, you know," Haymitch says, with a wave of his hand that Katniss understands to mean, 'the rebellion'. "Us. We're working something out. You can rest assured that _everything_ will be alright." He sounds as though he's mocking her, but she's used to it by now. With a final leering grin, he stands up and stumbles in the direction of his room.

Katniss sighs, but she knows she has to trust that he knows what he's doing. After all, he did get her out of the Games four years ago. She stands, and is about to follow Haymitch, but a voice calls out from behind her. "We have a plan."

She freezes, every fiber in her being tense. _Cinna! _She'd forgotten about his presence in the room entirely; he was _that_ silent. But — what did he mean? What is he saying? Is he a part of the rebellion _too?_ Why is everyone around her — except her — seemingly involved in this thing before she'd even known about it?

When she finally has the sense to turn around and question him, Cinna is gone.

* * *

There is someone knocking on her door. The knocking gets louder and louder the longer she ignores it, and finally when the incessant knocking becomes too much for her to bear, Katniss extracts herself from the many layers of blankets she's suffocated herself under and calls out, "who is it?"

The door flies open and it's Finnick, he's holding something in his hand. Katniss starts to think; _Rory and Madge are going into the arena today, _when it strikes her, _oh no, Finnick's angry. _Has she done something to anger him? But no, all his anger is concentrated on whatever's in his hand, and as he draws nearer she recognizes the glossy pages to be a bundle of Capitol magazines. Finnick throws the tabloids down on her bed at her feet; the magazines fan out and reveal their assorted different titles, but the cover picture is all the same.

With a start Katniss recognizes herself, sitting alongside Finnick in her yellow dress from the previous night; she sees Johanna's shoulder and arm but the rest of her is cropped out. There is a large circle outlining the silhouette of hers and Finnick's intertwined hands in the darkness.

"It's everywhere," Finnick says; his voice is agitated. "_Everywhere._"

_It's everywhere,_ his words ring out in her mind. _Everywhere. Everywhere._ Finally she finds her voice; "what are they trying to do?"

"The reporters? Make out like there's something going on between us," Finnick says tightly. His expression constricts further. "The rebels? Make a stand." He runs a hand through his hair. "I don't like what they're doing, but I can't dispute it."

"The rebels?"

"You can count on the fact that they gave the picture to the press. This has Beetee's work written all over it — if he didn't want them to have the image, he would have deleted it from all their records. But no, this is obviously something else. This was someone else's idea." Finnick's angry pacing comes to a halt; he takes her hands in his and stares her in the eye, his blue-green eyes ever-sincere. "It's okay if they use me, but I don't want them to use _you_."

"It's okay if they use me too," Katniss argues. "I want to help. I can't always be helpless; I have to do _something._ Finnick, please. This is something _else._ I'm not the frail little girl that came out of the arena any more."

_Oh,_ his eyes say, _but how I wish you were._

* * *

-;-

* * *

The next day, Finnick comes to visit her in District 12. She's surprised as ever to see him, but she's extremely happy, and launches herself at him the moment he presents himself on her doorstep. Johanna is less receptive, but gifts him with a smile nonetheless.

"Odair."

"Johanna," he says with a smile, and moves forwards to hug her, but she maneuvers her way out of his embrace skillfully.

"You might want to know that I despise human contact."

To his credit, Finnick doesn't falter, just nods knowingly. "Of course." He turns to Katniss now, and bows deeply. "My lady, may I request your company for one day?" His smile is genuine, not like the fake ones he puts up for his women in the Capitol. Katniss feels an involuntary smile spread across his own face.

"You came here all the way for me?"

"Of course," he says again, and now he sounds slightly confused. "Who else would it be for?" Then she hugs him once more and breathes in his scent of mint and the sea and exhales into his embrace, because he loves her more than anything and she never wants to let him go.

* * *

"I tried watching it," she tells him as they're splayed out against the grass in the Meadow, their picnic abandoned a few metres away, and her head on his lap. He's twirling her hair between his fingers absent-mindedly, half-forming complex knots that he collapses with the tug of a lock.

"Watching what?"

"My Hunger Games."

His fingers pause, half-tangled in her hair. "And?"

"And nothing," she sighs. "I wasn't ready." Katniss tilts her head to one side, tearing her eyes from the azure zenith to face the distant district, her eyes skipping across the familiar landmarks like the Seam, the Hob, and the Justice Building. Then, even further off, Victors' Village.

Finnick hesitates before commencing his fiddling with her hair. "You shouldn't watch it. I don't want you to ever relive that."

"But, Finnick, I need to know what's _real,_" she argues.

"Don't watch it."

"_Finnick _…"

"Don't, and that's final." His expression is tight when she turns to look back at him, and she can almost see the gears ticking in his head — ways to communicate with Johanna, to get her to dispose of the tapes, how to ensure that they never ended up in her hands again — but that only strengthens her resolve. Even if it takes lying to Finnick, she'll watch those tapes. She _will_ know what's real and what's not. She'll prove to him that she's stronger than she actually is.

* * *

-;-

* * *

"What is the _meaning_ of this?"

Haymitch is obviously nursing a killer hangover, muses Katniss. He's drinking coffee for a change, and has added so much cream and sugar she wouldn't be surprised if he were diabetic, and is groaning while attempting to butter his toast. Even his pathetic appearance doesn't cause Finnick's anger to diminish a notch.

The older man raises his eyes disinterestedly to the tabloids Finnick is brandishing. "Yes, what about it?"

"You know what about it." Finnick's teeth are gritted, his stance aggressive. "What do you people _think_ you're doing? What are you trying to achieve? Wasn't this a part of our deal, that you could use me but not her?" _I was mentioned?_ Katniss thinks, somewhat dimly. Finnick is speaking so rapidly that she can barely keep up.

"Oh, Finnick, you speak of us as though we're your enemies." Haymitch grumbles under his breath and reaches for the jam on the other end of the table. An Avox rushes forwards and fetches it for him before retreating to a corner. Finnick steps back, shocked, having just registered their presence, and his glower fades before he dismisses them. The female Avoxes rush away, blushing furiously.

When he turns to face Haymitch, his anger is back. The first time Katniss saw him angry she'd been frightened, terrified even. She wonders, privately, how Haymitch can be so immune to his glare, to his furious eyes.

"You _behave_ as though you are."

"Finnick," Haymitch says, slowly. "Don't you see? This is for your benefit. The story — whether it's real or not, it doesn't even matter. The people will lap it up either way. And you can even go public about it. Sure, the press will be bad, and sure, Katniss might be affected, but do you see? _President Snow will no longer have a bargaining chip._ He thought we wanted to keep you two covered up, so we just had to do the exact opposite. It'll take a while before he gathers his troops once more." A familiar smirk finds its way onto his lips as he turns to Katniss, waving his butterknife in the air. "Can't you see, sweetheart? You're free for now."

Finnick absorbs his words. Katniss is stunned into silence, trying to grasp what he'd just said. _I'm free? From the sexual slavery? For now?_ She turns to look at Finnick, whose expression softens on seeing that she's looking.

"Finnick?"

"He's right," Finnick says, deflated. He nods at Haymitch. "I trust your judgement. For now. So long it ensures that she never has to do … _that_ again." He evidently doesn't want to say it out loud, as doesn't she. "But what next? How do we move?"

"This is part of the plan," Haymitch says, digging his knife into the jam pot.

Finnick's fingers curl into fists once more. "The plan that you won't trust me with."

"That's right," answers Haymitch, calmly spreading a dollop of strawberry jam across his buttered toast. When Finnick doesn't respond, he sighs. "We have our reasons. Part of it is because you're so desperate to protect her."

"So the plan involves me?" Katniss steps forward. "If so, I want to know."

"Katniss," says Finnick.

"No," Haymitch's eyes are on her, brooding and disconcerting. He sinks his teeth into his toast with a loud crunch, and both of them wait as he chews and swallows. "She's right. She has a right to know, especially since she plays such an important part."

"What about _me_?" Finnick demands, angry again. "Don't I _deserve_ to know? I've done so much for all of you, oughtn't you just _trust_ me?"

Haymitch takes even longer to reply this time, chewing his way through his first slice of toast and then starting work on another. Not one of them breathes a word while they wait, even though Finnick is visibly restraining himself. Finally, Haymitch sighs, placing his toast back onto his plate. "Fine. I'll bring you to the next meeting."

Finnick exhales, but Katniss doesn't feel any more relieved, if anything, she's even more anxious. "When?"

"Tonight," Haymitch says. His eyes lock on hers as she speaks. "It starts at midnight."

* * *

**a/n** — the first part of the chapter was more finnick-centric than anything i've ever written before! (: i hope you enjoyed that little insight into my headcanon-finnick's past, and i hope you enjoyed this chapter, shitty as it was! :P please review, and try not to favourite or alert without reviewing? i know it's a lot to ask, since i suck at updating, but more reviews would encourage me to write more. ^^ please? :D


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